


Flesh & Electricity

by arcadenemesis



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura (Voltron) Lives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Epilogue Compliant, Operation Kuron (Voltron), Phantom Limb Pain, Protective Keith (Voltron), Season 8 divergent, Seasons 1-7 compliant, Slow Burn, Team Voltron find out about Naxzela
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 76,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcadenemesis/pseuds/arcadenemesis
Summary: “Back at the Garrison when we were learning about warfare medical aid, the officers taught us battlefield amputations. I never thought it would be useful information. The idea just seemed so bizarre. I was going to explore the stars. Not fight wars.”Shiro isn't the same. Keith can tell he's hiding something from him. He's determined to find out what.





	1. The Anatomy of Nothing

Keith first notices something isn't right when he lays him down in the desert shack. There are a lot of things that aren't right though, and it melts into the swirl of all his other concerns.

Shiro's back, but not entirely. Exponential joy and horror war within him, and Keith’s not sure if the tears he sheds when everyone is long asleep are those of relief or of crushing, breathtaking sorrow. He decides to cling to the very real, very _alive_ presence in the bed next to where he sits as he watches over him, rather than continue his year-long spiral of what-ifs and maybes. His body bears the scars of toil and torture, but he's here, and Keith reminds himself that is only thing that matters. He can break heaven and earth and walk through the inferno of hell to fix everything else.

He takes stock of the long-healed wound across his face, the shock of white at his crown… the metal limb at his side. Keith swallows, eying it warily. It looks like something out of an old cheesy comic book; a perfect silver replica of what he has lost. He wonders if it has as much function as form, whether it provides him the dexterity and movement that makes up for the missing limb.

Keith feels his eyes prickle again and scolds himself silently. Is it strange to mourn the death of flesh when the body left behind is still living and breathing? The grief seems misplaced for a piece of Shiro that doesn't fundamentally contribute to the sum of who he is. He feels the loss regardless, and deeply, and so decides it's not worth the philosophical debate with himself.

He wants to know how it happened. He doesn't want to know. He can't stand the thought. He _has_ to know. Were the people who gave him this cold replacement friend or foe? Did they really want to help him? Or were there crueler intentions at play?

He reaches out with hesitation, and almost falls backward off of his chair when metal fingers flinch under his touch. It's not cold at all, warm like human skin, if only far more unyielding. The reaction confuses Keith. Is the hand tactile? If so, how advanced must the technology and medicine involved be for sensation to remain? Perhaps more pressingly, more concerning: just _who_ is responsible for its fitting?

Keith folds his arms and settles into the chair again. He tries to stay awake, tries to keep guard. But eventually he slips and falls into troubled dreams of blood and scalpels and blue, rigid fingers hanging from a gurney in a blindingly white room.

* * *

The click of the door is soft, but it draws Keith back to full consciousness in an instant. The blanket from the bed is draped over him, and tattered rags lay in its place on the mattress. The vest and trousers he had laid out by the foot of the bed last night are gone. Good. Keith couldn't stand the sight of clothes he had found him in. He feels niggling need to gather them up and burn them until they're nothing but ashes in the wind.

He straightens the crick in his spine as he stands, ignoring the others as they wake slowly around him to walk through the door. He finds him standing not far away, staring at the metal fist clenched in front of him. Keith takes a breath, tells himself that this is real, and even if it is a dream, then he hasn't woken up yet.

Shiro acknowledges his approach with the slightest turn of his head, and Keith reaches out to touch his shoulder, if only to convince his old friend that it's real too.

“It's good to have you back.”

Shiro's eyes soften, and Keith knows that even his sweetest, kindest dreams wouldn't remember them this well.

“It's good to be back.”

And god, has he missed that voice.

* * *

Shiro hisses as his shoulder collides with the side window when they hurtle through the wormhole in the Blue Lion. Keith wants to rip into Lance, ask him if he had even actually qualified for cargo pilot at the Garrison, but he's too occupied by the way Shiro chews the inside of his cheek in an effort to stay silent. Keith feels his world narrow down to the man beside him, even as the ship jostles again. A metal hand lands on the back of the pilot's chair and _grips_. Keith sees the frame bend ever so slightly under his thumb, barely noticeable. That shouldn't be possible. Whatever the tech is, it's monstrously strong. It could be dangerous. That is a priority two observation though, because Keith has a far more alarming thought.

_Is he… in pain?_

His eyes flick up to Shiro’s face. There's a tiny pinch between his brow, but otherwise his expression remains blank. Too blank. They're currently hurtling through space faster and further than any human has been before inside of a sentient robot lion. There should be surprise or wonder or terror or _something_ written there. Instead, his mouth is set straight and he stares impassively as the universe flies past around them. It's not right. Space is their dream... At least, space with Shiro is his dream. Being here beside him is the shape of everything he’s ever dared to wish for. It makes him ache. Shiro can't be this unaffected.

He's been staring too long, because Shiro looks to him and a smile melts through the mask and nudges Keith’s heart into a gallop.

“Hey,” he says quietly. The others don't hear over their squabbling and threats to be ill.

“Hey,” Keith parrots, because he doesn't hear them either.

Shiro glances pointedly to the cockpit around them.  
“Not exactly how I pictured our first mission together,” he jokes.

It cuts through all of his concerned calculations with precision. Somehow, it turns hope into spoken fact; Shiro has thought of sharing space and the stars with him too. Keith tries to blame his stumble on Lance’s navigation. A warm hand steadies him at his back.

“Scared?” Shiro asks in that same soft voice.

“No,” Keith answers instantly, and it's the truth. He finally has Shiro in his sights again. There’s still so many unanswered questions and pressingly urgent worries that scroll through Keith’s mind during his every waking moment. But it's easily the least unsettled he's been in a year.  
"You?”

Shiro grins the way Keith remembers from hoverbike seats and across library desks and on rooftops stargazing. The way that grips at his lungs and squeezes without mercy.  
"Terrified.”

* * *

The first time he sees the arm activate, Keith's heart leaps into his mouth.

He's heard the story from Pidge already. That the arm had turned into some kind of weapon that had cut down Galra sentries left right and centre on Sendak’s ship while he recovered Red. The others had gushed over the technology, but Keith had sensed Shiro’s trepidation. Keith worries too, not because he doesn't trust Shiro's capability to handle it, but because it seems he doesn't remember everything it can do. The black holes in his memory weigh heavily on Keith, and he can't help but wonder what else they've done to him and what is built into the tech.

It's not until Allura pits them against the ship's Gladiator droid that he sees it for himself. Lance sabotages him again in what is turning out to be an emerging pattern, leaving Shiro the last man standing. The arm crackles and hums to life, pulsing in ominous violet, and Keith's eyes widen. But then something haunted crosses Shiro's face and he stills under the approach of droid. Keith leaps to his feet on instinct, sprinting across the deck to intercept the staff that swings toward Shiro with his sword.

“Shiro! Are you okay?”

It's for naught though. The droid disposes of him easily with his divided focus, sending him flying into Shiro so they both tumble to the ground heavily. Keith can't even apologise before Allura rips into all five of them. He doesn't blame her. They're a shambles.

Shiro gets to his feet first, offering a hand up and a quiet apology.

“Are you okay?” he repeats, more intimately this time, as Allura dismisses them to dinner in her frustration.

“Just… more memories I guess. I'm sorry I froze up there.”  
Shiro is clearly embarrassed, and Keith hates it. It's not his fault.

Keith stands still as they others start filing out, groaning and rubbing their battered bodies. He doesn't bother with weak words like “it's fine” or “you did your best.” Instead he asks, “do you want to talk about it?”

Shiro gives a tired smile.  
“I appreciate the offer, but I don't think there's enough there yet to talk about. It's all just jumbled flashes for now. I've just been having a lot more since we saved those prisoners on Sendak’s ship. Piecing together what they said… it's hard.”

“I wish I could do more to help,” Keith murmurs to his feet.

A warm hand rests on his shoulder and Keith looks up into kind eyes.  
“Just being here is more than enough,” Shiro says.

Keith's heart somersaults against his ribs.

* * *

“We need to form Voltron!” Pidge yells over the comms.

But Shiro resists.

“No. We’re better off splitting their attention and staying as small targets.”

In Red, Keith frowns at his instruction. It isn't the same call that he would make. In the weeks, months, whatever it's been since coming together and facing the obstacles thrown at them by Zarkon, the team's bond has solidified into something tangible and reliable. The Galra fighters are easily manageable without a mothership, albeit annoying, but they could have them disposed of in two dobashes flat with Voltron. The risk to the Castle Ship when fighting as one entity instead of five is minimal with the particle barrier up and functioning, so why is he pushing for a scramble and fire strategy?

“Not to be insubordinate, but are you sure?” Lance’s voice comes through skeptically through his helmet.

“Yes, I'm sure,” and Keith blinks at the strain in Shiro’s reply. It's not frustration, it's… something else. He has that horrible jolt of realisation again.

_It's pain. He sounds like he's in pain._

Keith takes in a sharp breath. What if Shiro knows they can't form Voltron when something else is pulling his focus away from the Black Lion?

“Keith, flank on the right. Pidge, go left. Hunk, you come from underneath. Lance with me.”

“But—"

“Just listen to him,” Keith cuts in, furious.  
“We'll have this sorted in no time if you just follow orders.”

The bellyaching stops there, and the other Lions move into their positions. Shiro’s commands sound stilted, like his throat is tight and his tongue has turned to lead in his mouth, but the others don't seem to pick it up. It takes a little longer than any of them would like, but finally the fighters are eliminated and they can return to the Castle Ship.

“Good work out there team,” Shiro tells them as they exit their Lions.

No one else notices the way he grips his helmet like a vice.

* * *

Keith is the last to join them in the Castle lounge, and his entrance goes mostly unnoticed by the team. Shiro looks up though and smiles straight to him, even as the others laugh at Hunk as he recounts a story from home. Keith feels warmth spread across his skin like spring sunshine, and an involuntary response to return the gesture plays a shy, awkward smile back to him. Internally, he cringes. He probably looks ridiculous, stopping still like this under the force of such a simple, friendly gesture. Shiro's expression stutters minutely and it's all the confirmation he needs. He puts his head down and marches to the end of the sunken lounge, sitting away from everyone else. It's not that he craves isolation - he wouldn't have made his way to the common area if he did - he just doesn't know how to intrude on a moment that has started without him.

Hunk does a terrible impression of Lance’s voice, acting out a run-in with a female cadet and Iverson, and both Pidge and Allura break into peals of laughter. Lance suddenly seems unimpressed by the direction of the tale and insists that Hunk remembers the events wrong.

“I did _not_ walk into the girl's shower. _She_ walked into the men's! And I wasn't naked. I was wearing a towel, thank you very much.”

“There were still shampoo suds in his hair when he got back to the dorms,” Hunk gasps out, wiping away tears as Pidge almost rolls off her seat and on onto the floor. “He sprinted half way across the Garrison without even putting on underwear.”

Shiro is laughing too, and that's enough to put a smile on Keith's face, as if Lance’s misfortune wasn't quite enough. The Black Paladin sits back, happy to observe instead of actively participate as Coran questions Lance’s instinct to run if he had truly been the innocent party. The smile remains on his lips, but Keith notices a pronounced tendon in his neck. It's at odds with his relaxed demeanour. Keith shifts in his seat and watches a little closer with a frown.

Now that he's paying attention, he can see the strained set of his jaw, like he's clenching his teeth behind his smile. His human arm is thrown casually over the back of the seat, but his spine is stiff and doesn't sink into the cushions like it should. Most telling is the bead of sweat at his temple. Keith knows he hasn't been sparring today. He just came from the training decks himself. So it makes no sense that he would be firing signs of exertion when he should be at ease.

Once again, Keith feels that nagging thought worm into his mind that Shiro isn't okay. There's plenty he already knows. The PTSD, the amnesia, the burden of leadership. This is something else. And he's no closer to figuring it out.

* * *

It plays heavily on Keith’s mind for weeks until he decides enough is enough. If there's something wrong, he has to know. It's clearly affecting Shiro, whatever it is. He might have the others fooled, but there's something off-balance about him and Keith feels it nudge at the edge of his subconscious to the point of madness. He decides he's waited long enough for him to tell him what's going on himself. It's time to ask point blank.

A guilty part of him tries to tell him he shouldn't pry, but it's squashed under the lead boot of his concern. He hates to probe, knows he should respect Shiro’s silence, but he hates to see him suffer even more. Keith finds his opportunity when he spots him leaving the dining hall long after everyone else has finished dinner. He grabs him by the arm, ignoring the surprised exclamation of his name to march him down the corridor to a quiet corner of the castle ship. He looks Shiro dead in the eye when they stop and he releases him.

“There's something you're not telling me,” he states, and watches Shiro go rigid in front of him.  
“I see the way you grit your teeth and look at your arm. Your voice goes strange sometimes and you come to breakfast looking like you haven't slept in days. What's going on?”

He expects Shiro to fight his prying questions and insist he’s fine. He’s always built himself up as the pillar of strength, even before Kerberos. Keith suspects a small part of is as much pride as it is selflessness. He braces himself for the denial. So when Shiro’s shoulders slump, it throws Keith off completely.

“Nothing gets past you, huh?”  
The smile he gives is a little on the wrong side of wry, and immediately disappears with a sigh.  
“You're right,” he says quietly, reaching up to touch his right shoulder. “I've been hiding something.”

Keith doesn't know what to say, because he didn't expect Shiro to volunteer the truth so easily. He had prepared to fight, to coerce it from him. To some extent, he had expected to relent to Shiro’s reassurances and walk away with no answers. This goes against that all.

Shiro squeezes the flesh just above the join with metal, and seems to shrink where he stands.  
“Back at the Garrison when we were learning about warfare medical aid, the officers taught us battlefield amputations. I never thought it would be useful information. The idea just seemed so bizarre. I was going to explore the stars. Not fight wars.”

Keith feels his stomach turn and swallows down his nausea as he watches him open and close the prosthetic fist. All Shiro had ever wanted was to go further than anyone before him. To discover and learn and further human knowledge of the universe. He had got far more than he bargained for and far less than he deserved.

“They told us that amputees quite often can still feel sensation in the lost limb. It's usually… quite unpleasant. They called it phantom pain.”

Keith's heart breaks.  
“And you… you feel this?” he dares to ask.

Shiro gives a rueful smile and nods. Keith frowns. It's the answer he expects, but that doesn't soften the blow. Now that he knows the problem that has been hidden from him, he won't be able to sit still. He needs to know the solution too.

“How do you treat it?” he asks, because he never got as far as warfare before he was booted from the Garrison.

Shiro looks suddenly exhausted.  
“I… don't know. The curriculum wasn't quite that detailed I guess.”

Horror flits across Keith’s face.  
“You just?...”

“Bear it?” Shiro finishes for him, sheepishly.

“Shiro…”

The older paladin avoids his eyes guiltily.

“You should have said something,” Keith says, conscious that he sounds pleading when he had aimed for firm. Shiro opens his mouth, but Keith cuts him off.  
“If you dare tell me it wasn't worth the worry, then I will march to Red right now to hunt down Zarkon myself.”

Shiro's mouth snaps shut so quickly that his teeth clack together. Keith reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Think, think… there has to be something he can do.

“Maybe Coran will be able to pull something up in the ship's files. Surely this isn't a human-only phenomenon.”

Shiro swallows and squeezes at his arm again.  
"I don't want the others to know,” he says quietly.

Keith bites his tongue. Because they _should_ know. They should realise their leader is suffering, that he's not as invincible as he makes himself out to be. He’s only human, and Keith thinks that sometimes the team forgets that. But he won't disrespect his wishes, or even question them. If Shiro doesn't want them to know, they won't know.  
"I'll be discreet,” he promises. “Coran won't even know what I'm looking for. Just…”  he swallows, stepping closer to place a hand on his shoulder, “try to get some rest. You've been wearing yourself thin. I'm sure fatigue doesn't help it.”

Shiro finally looks up. He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.  
“I'll try.”

* * *

When Keith knocks on his door at the ship's internal dawn varga, Shiro seems surprised to see him there, juggling an armful of items.

“I have some ideas,” he tells him before he can question his presence.

Shiro side steps and Keith lets himself in, dumping several hologram units and a mirror on the freshly rumpled bunk. He rifles through the units until he finds the one he wants, turning it on and scrolling through paragraphs of data projected before him.

“The ship has a whole bunch of Altean medical journals in the database. Coran said I could borrow as many as I wanted, so I made sure to throw a few red herrings in there.”  
He misses the way Shiro's eyes go soft as he speaks.  
“Turns out they do have documentation on amputation and post-surgical pain. They called it the Anatomy of Nothing, though. Seems doctors like to be poetic no matter where in the universe you are.”

He forces his eyes to focus through the blur of lost sleep. He was up all night looking for this information. Or at least, night per the ship’s determination. It's an unclear concept when deep space surrounds you constantly. All Keith knows is that he has been awake for an extraordinarily long time, and it's starting to catch up with him.  
“The journal I found describes the pain as a varied sensation. That some people just feel sparks down their missing limb. Like pins and needles I guess, to borrow an Earth term. But then others describe it as the feeling that the limb was aflame, or that it had been contorted into unnatural, distorted shapes that cause them agony.”

“Keith.”

He looks up quick enough to make his head spin, realising he hasn't let Shiro get a single word in since he opened the door to him.

“Have you slept at all since we talked?”

His voice is too soft and fond for Keith when he is this tired, so he blinks away stars and drops his gaze as steadies himself with a hand on the mattress. A thought suddenly occurs to him.

“Did I wake you up?” he panics.

“No, Keith. I've been up a little while.”

That's a relief. He returns to the hologram.  
“Okay, well as far as I can tell, Altean medicine doesn't really have the same pharmaceutical elements ours does. They seem to rely more on cellular repair through some kind of… nanotechnology in the pods. So there's no magic painkiller I can get for you out here, unless the Arusians or Balmerans or someone else have a remedy we could use.”

“Keith…”

“But even then there would be no guarantee it would be compatible with your physiology. It's probably too much of a risk if I'm honest.”

“Keith!”

Firm hands on his shoulders turn him around to face concerned eyes.  
“You can't neglect your need to rest. What if the Castle was under attack? You look like you would fall asleep before you even got to your Lion.”

Keith's eyes go wide and he ducks his head, suitably chastised. Shiro's right. Of course he's right. It's completely foolish to risk his ability to perform his duties as a paladin. Especially when they come closer to facing Zarkon with every passing day. But…  
"I just,” he mumbles, “I couldn't sleep thinking about…”

Shiro sighs, but Keith senses there's affection in it.  
“This is why I didn't want to tell you,” he says. “I knew you would worry.”

Keith frowns, reaching up to touch a hand on his shoulder.  
"I was already worried. The only difference now is that I know what I am worried about.”

They stare at each other stubbornly until Shiro relents, like always.  
“Show me what you found, but then you need to sleep.”

Keith nods, turning back to the hologram so he can hide the fact he's suppressing a yawn.  
“The journals talk about some therapies that I think we can try. One of them sounds a bit like acupuncture, but—"

Shiro goes stiff behind him.  
"No needles.”

Keith nods.  
"Yeah, I thought you might say that. I don't feel qualified to administer it anyway. There's some other suggestions here. I'm not sure whether you would have tried them on your own already.”  
Shiro leans in closer to peer over his shoulder until Keith can feel the heat of his body against his back. The warmth settles into his blood and sends another wave of exhaustion through him. He reaches up to cover his mouth as yawn escapes without permission.  
“Apparently repositioning and manipulating the remaining limb or the surrounding muscle groups is effective for some people. There's also some evidence for meditation techniques and imagery exercises. You'd have to sort of picture your arm how it was before. Focus on how it feels starting from your shoulder and moving all the way to your fingertips.”

Shiro makes an odd sound behind him.  
“You know the sad thing?” he says quietly, and Keith glances over his shoulder to him. “I don't remember what my arm looked like. Not really. I can picture it, but it's just a carbon copy of my left. I know that sounds weird. How different can two arms be? But it seems… off. The memory just isn't there.”

“I remember.”  
Keith twists to face him again, taking hold of the prosthetic at the elbow with both hands.  
“You had a freckle, right here,” he says, pressing his thumb into a spot on his forearm, close to his wrist. He doesn't notice Shiro has started holding his breath. “And a callus on your middle finger from gripping your pen too hard.”  
He turns it over so the metal palm faces to the ceiling.  
“Your veins were more prominent on this side too. There was one in particular that stood out dark blue in the crease of your elbow. I guess it was because it was your preferred hand.”

He glances up, and finds Shiro watching him with a strange expression. Oh no. He's being weird again. Maybe he should have had a nap first to avoid doing something embarrassing like this. He gently releases Shiro's arm, then whips back around to the hologram again, shoulders tense.  
“Ah, then there's this.”  
He picks up the mirror on the bed.  
“It seems like the science is disputed but there's a few passages in the journal that discuss using a reflection of the unaffected limb while picturing the other copying its movements. Apparently it can help when the limb feels twisted into a painful position.”  
He drops down onto his knees to rest his forearm on the mattress, holding the mirror in front of him so he can watch the reflection as he flexes his fingers.  
“They probably had a bigger mirror in mind than this, but you get the point.”

He glances up to Shiro from the floor, who quickly looks away and takes a tiny step back, clearing his throat. From this angle, it almost looks like he's blushing. Strange.

“I'm sure there's more, but that's all I've found so far.”

“Thank you Keith. I really appreciate it.”

Keith goes to smile, but another yawn hits him before he can cover it. Shiro goes serious again.

“But a promise is a promise,” he says, reaching over him to grab the holographic units and mirror in one hand. With the other, he hauls Keith up to his feet by the back of his shirt and gives him a gentle shove so he tumbles forward onto the cot.  
“Now, go to sleep. I'll come grab you in a couple of hours.”

Keith wants to protest, but the second his body hits the pillows, his brain starts shutting down. Shiro pulls the blanket over him, and the battle is lost before it even begins.

* * *

Being thrown half way across the universe is unsurprisingly not helpful for phantom pain. Keith can only be thankful that somehow the wormhole was benevolent enough to spit the two of them out on the same arid planet. It takes Keith far, _far_ longer than he would like to reach him, and by then he has a litany of scratches and bruises to add to the ominous wound on his side courtesy of Zarkon’s witch. He tries to get Shiro comfortable, tries contacting the other Paladins, and when that fails, he lights them a fire with what little flammable material he can find around them to try to keep him warm. He shuts down the grim talk of him leading Voltron and hopes for a miracle. He will just have to have faith in the others finding them soon.

When Shiro emerges from the cryopod days later, he looks deeply troubled, but shrugs off Keith's concerns when they finally speak privately.

“It actually feels the best it has in a while,” he assures. “But never put me back in there. Please.”

Keith's brows knit together.  
“... Did you remember something while you were in the pod?”

Shiro can't meet his eyes.  
"I'm not… I…”

“You don't have to tell me right now,” he whispers.

Shiro pauses and Keith holds his breath. “Later,” he finally says.

Keith breathes out with a smile. He can accept that.  
“Later.”

* * *

Keith isn't surprised to find Shiro in the training room before him, despite the early hour. If there's anyone more committed to keeping his skills sharp, it's him. Keith stops still in the doorway, watching him for a moment as he slides under the sweep of the gladiator droid's staff and counters with a chop to its lower legs with his galra arm. It sends the droid to its knees and Shiro springs to his feet to finish it off with a kick to its head that hits true. The droid slumps forward and the training program comes to an end.

Keith can hear him panting from across the room, and it's almost mesmerising the way he reaches up to wipe the sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt. Well, perhaps not _almost_. He's still staring when Shiro straightens and smiles at him.

“Keith,” he greets cheerfully, as if he didn't just catch the other paladin ogling the flash of skin.

“I, uh… training,” Keith fumbles intelligently. “I came here to... do the droids.”  
He hears his subconscious give a slow clap.  
“I mean,” he breathes through his nose to calm himself, “I came here to train with the gladiator droid. I didn't expect to see anyone so early.”

Shiro gives a little puzzled smile.  
"Okay. Well since I'm here too, we could team up on a tougher program? Or we could go old school and spar for a bit?” Keith blinks at him too many times, because he continues, “you know, like we used to at the Garrison.”

Of course he remembers. But that's from an age before he had time to think a little deeper about the way he felt for his dear mentor between high expectations and lofty dreams. Before a year of nothing and the feeling of getting him back again.

“Keith?”

“Uh yeah, sounds great,” he replies quickly, making his way onto the floor, because standing like a stunned doe for another half a minute would probably cause Shiro to call for medical aid.

“Great,” Shiro parrots, rolling his shoulders and bouncing on his toes. “Do you need to warm up first?”

Keith quickly rotates through a cross-body shoulder stretch and another for his quads, then shakes out his limbs.  
“Nah I'm good,” he answers, bringing up his fists. “Ready when you are.”

Shiro grins, feinting immediately a kick, then going for a left hook. Keith ducks deftly under it, trying to sneak a jab to his ribs as he gets in close. Shiro sees it though, and chops his forearm so his fist barely glances against his hip. Keith darts back, knowing close combat doesn't favour him here. He's quick, but he knows not to underestimate Shiro's speed. He had been a force to be reckoned with back at the Garrison, before the arena. Now, he was stronger than ever, with a fighting style built on pure survival instead of technique and discipline. As they clash again and again, Keith frowns, noting that his arm stays dark as he gives preference to his left.

“You're holding back,” he yells at him as they break apart again, breath starting to become heavy in his chest.

Shiro hesitates.  
“I don't want to hurt you.”

Keith straightens out of his stance.  
"What, you think I can't take you?” he asks, and the offended tone is genuine.  
“Am I supposed to hope the Galra don't use any dirty tricks when I come face to face with them?”

“N-no, but—"

“Then stop holding back,” Keith says, exasperated. “Trust me to tell you if I can't take it. But I need to learn.”

Shiro stares at him a moment, but then he flicks his right hand and it hums to life in vivid purple. Keith feels his lips curl into a smirk. He swipes his forehead with the back of his hand, then leaps in again.

The dance lasts far longer than he expects. He can smell singed hair when Shiro barely misses his ear. At one point, Keith almost manages to sweep his legs out from under him and stuns him with a follow up elbow to his solar plexus. He's heaving, but Shiro looks just as strained, sweating and grunting as he throws his fists. Eventually pure strength and experience wins out, and Keith finds himself on his back, dazed.

“Yield,” Shiro says firmly.

Keith tries not to shiver at the tone, and attempts to exploit one of the openings Shiro has unintentionally left for him. Large hands wrap around his wrists and slam his arms back to the ground, bearing over him.

“Yield,” he insists with a growl.

A bead of sweat pauses at Shiro’s chin. Keith flinches as it drops and lands in the hollow of his throat.  
“I yield,” he agrees, and his right hand is released at once. But the grip on his left, the one held in metal fingers, tightens. Keith winces.  
“I’m not going to try anything. You can let me go.”

Shiro is fixed on his hand with an expression of horror.  
"I can't,” he whispers.

Keith feels his heart suddenly thunder in his chest. The grip tightens again.

“Keith, it's the pain… it won't respond.”

Keith forces himself to calm, despite the ache in his wrist. He can already feel bruises forming.  
"Shiro.”

He doesn't respond.

“Shiro,” he repeats, with just enough harshness that grey eyes snap back to him. There's terror in his eyes, and it bores itself into Keith's mind like a brand.  
“It's okay,” he assures softly, even as his fingers start to tingle. “It's not the tech. It's not damaged and it's still functional. This is psychological and we need to work you through it. It _will_ release.”  
Keith wants to reach up, to cup his jaw and soothe him with touch. It would probably be unwelcome though. And anything to panic Shiro further probably wouldn't be in his best interest right now.  
“Sit up. Pull me up. Let's get your body weight off it first.”

Shiro swallows - gulps - and then nods, shuffling to sit back onto his knees, tugging Keith up with him. He stems the heat in his cheeks as Shiro guides him to straddle his thighs and cradles his trapped hand to his chest. He can feel the pulse in his wrist flutter against a metal thumb.

“Tell me what you feel,” he says quietly, touching Shiro’s knuckles with his free hand.

Shiro tears his eyes away from Keith’s to stare distantly at their hands.  
“It's like a current of electricity… running down like a channel. It doesn't feel like an arm right now. Just some grotesque attachment to my body.”

“Okay,” Keith acknowledges, wetting his lips. The grip is getting tighter and faintly there's a real concern in the back of his mind that his wrist might break under the pressure.  
"Let's focus on your shoulder first.”  
He reaches across his body to touch his skin above the join of the tech.  
"How does that feel?”

“Warm,” Shiro says quietly. Keith squeezes and he goes deathly still. “Your grip is strong. I can tell that it's dexterous.”

Keith nods, then slides his hand down to an artificial bicep.  
“Can you feel that here?”

“Yes,” Shiro breathes.

“Move it for me. Bicep curl. Picture you're picking up a dumbbell.”

Shiro closes his eyes with an unsteady exhale. There's a long pause, then slowly Shiro draws his arm up. Keith's hand is pulled along with the motion, and he makes sure to provide no resistance. The pressure on his wrist eases, but the hold stays firm.

“Good, you're doing so well,” he says and Shiro shudders under him.  
“Lower it again.” Shiro obeys silently. “Feel the movement of your elbow there?”  
Shiro tests the movement several more times.

“I still can't let go,” he says, and his voice is thick with such desperation that Keith feels the weight of it in his own lungs.

“We’ll get there,” Keith promises, sliding his free hand down to Shiro’s forearm. “Is it still painful?”

“Just… just below my wrist now. Like my fingers are tied in knots. Everything is all... tangled.”

“Sounds unpleasant,” Keith sympathises.

Shiro just grimaces.

“Let's work on putting them back into the right place. You have the tech to help you visualise so use it.”

Shiro glances down and sucks in a quick breath.  
“Oh god, I'm really hurting you, aren't I?” he panics.

“Shiro, focus,” Keith replies firmly. “It's nothing. But if you want to let go, then I need you to stay on task. Look at your hand, not mine.”  
Shiro's shoulders slump inward and so he continues, sliding his right index finger to his wrist.  
“Rotate this once for me,” he instructs softly.  
Shiro falls into silent compliance again.  
“Lots of tendons and bones in your hand, so this is going to be a little more complicated, but we can do it. We'll go one finger at a time. Can you feel this?”  
He runs his finger down in a straight line where the tendon between Shiro's wrist and index would be were it not for the prosthetic. Shiro doesn't speak, but gives a small nod.  
"Can you line your finger up with the path I'm mapping out for you?” he asks, tracing the metal digit around his trapped wrist.  
Slowly he feels it release and he can't help but sigh his relief, giving Shiro what he hopes is an encouraging smile.  
“Perfect. Now the next one.”  
They repeat the process for his other three fingers and thumb, gently prying his wrist away when Shiro's hand opens up.

Almost immediately, Shiro’s human hand picks up the abused limb, staring at the large red welt that's already starting to go blue in the centre of each of the unmistakably finger-shaped marks.

“Keith…”  
He sounds like he's going to cry.

“I have had far worse,” Keith dismisses. “I'll put some ice on it later. Are you still in pain?”

“Just pins and needles,” Shiro rushes out, to get to what he really wants to say. “Keith, I'm so sorry… I've never had it seize on me like that before. It wasn't even the tech malfunctioning, it was… me. I was malfunctioning. My body couldn't remember where my nerves were meant to be. It felt like… like my neural pathways were firing erratically in every direction and I couldn't move anything. It was just stuck—"

“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” Keith cuts in.  
“It's not your fault. Even though the grafting in this arm is incredible, that doesn't mean your nervous system won't get confused when it tries to remember what should be here instead. It's still a foreign body after all. But maybe it will get better with time.”

“I hate it,” Shiro says, barely audible. “They turned me into a monster.”

“Don't say that,” Keith pleads.  
"You're not a monster. You're Shiro.”

Shiro stays silent and Keith knows with a sinking heart that he doesn't believe it. After a moment, he taps Keith's thigh, bringing him back to the horrifying realisation that he is still sitting in Shiro's lap long after he's let go. Keith jumps to his feet like a livewire while Shiro stands at a far more tired pace.

“Let's get some ice for your wrist.”

* * *

The bruise develops into shades of purple, yellow and even a splotch of green over the days that follow, with four distinct fingers branded into his skin. It fascinates Keith in a morbid way, and he takes a strange interest in examining it and pressing into the tender spots around his wrist. It's sick, he knows, and he keeps his idiosyncrasies to himself behind the locked door of his bedroom. Out in the rest of the Castle, he covers it with his gloves and the sleeve of his jacket. No one else notices at all, but he catches Shiro staring at it and wincing on several occasions, despite the fact he can't see the damaged skin.

When it finally heals, Keith makes sure to ditch the jacket and forget his gloves, and Shiro visibly relaxes when he catches the sight of his pale, unblemished flesh.

They go without another incident for weeks after that, and Keith wonders if the one big shock was enough to reset his body.

He's disappointed to find out he couldn't be more wrong.

They're standing on the bridge, arguing the semantics of how best to respond to a distress call received by the Castle. Allura is trying to be overly noble, Hunk is approaching it with too much caution and Lance… Lance is being Lance. Keith is about two ticks away from blowing up at everyone and taking Red out alone to just stop the arguing. But then he glances at Shiro and the angry words die on his tongue.

He's been silent for a while, and that should have been his first clue. Keith realises now that he has become complacent in picking up on his little signs. Keith can tell he's grinding his teeth. It could almost be passed off as a sign of his own frustration with the situation, but Keith knows better. He has folded his arms, but holds his right too tightly to his chest, and there's a distance in his eyes as if he is floating in and out of focus. Keith has to remove him from this. He employs cheap tricks.

“Lance, if you talk over Pidge one more time, you're going to be making your own distress call.”

It's depressingly effective. Pidge provides an unhelpful cackle which switches Lance into all-out attack mode.

“Oh yeah, drop out? I don't see you providing any quiznacking answers. You probably just wanna fly off on your own and be the big hero while the rest of us sit back here ready to congratulate you on what a good job you've done when you return. Well, news flash: that ain't gonna happen. But I'll gladly make the popcorn while we all pull up a chair to watch you get blown ten ways to Tuesday trying.”

It's not hard to get angry… Not when Lance hits just a little close to home with his thought process.

“It would be a lot better than hearing you talking all day,” he snaps back.  
He turns on his heels as Allura calls out to him in dismay. He usually wouldn't go so easily, and he hopes Shiro realises that.  
"Come get me when you learn to listen to each other.”

Keith counts a minute in the hallway before the door opens to Shiro, who seems confused, then relieved to see he hasn't gone far. Keith doesn't let him speak.

“Come on,” he says, taking his wrist and leading his through the winding corridors to a quiet, unutilised storage room.

Shiro stays silent through the journey, as if he already knows exactly why Keith put on his stupid act at the bridge. He does flinch away though when he tries to touch his prosthetic. Keith frowns, concerned.

“Is it that bad?”

“I don't want to hurt you again,” Shiro blurts in response.

Keith freezes, shocked. It's starting to make sense. He hasn't been getting better at all.  
“... You've been trying to hide this from me again, haven't you?”

“I shouldn't told you in the first place. I feel so guilty, I—"

“How the hell would have that helped? I still would have sparred with you? We would have had a lot more trouble if I didn't know how to help you.”

“I just—"

“No. Stop it, Shiro. Why do you feel like you can't come to me? I _want_ to help. I know you don't need me the same way I rely on you, but I don't understand why you insist of suffering silently when I might be able to do something. Just because we had one hiccup, doesn't mean I'm suddenly frightened of you or the arm.”

Shiro looks down to where the arm presses tense against his chest.  
"I know you're not… but I am.”

Keith deflates all at once, heart aching. He watches him a moment longer, then reaches out again. This time, Shiro lets it happen.  
"Have you tried any of the things I've shown you yet?”

“I've been a bit preoccupied,” he replies with a wince.

Keith clicks his tongue, unimpressed.  
“You're the leader. You can ask us to go away and reconvene later.”

Shiro gives a strange smile as he watches Keith straighten out his arm and spread his fingers.  
“Being the leader is exactly why I can't. You'll learn that soon.”

Keith frowns up at him.  
"Don't start with that again. I told you it's not up for discussion.”

Shiro sighs, but he drops the subject, and Keith guides him through his visualisation once more.

* * *

It gets better from there. Shiro is still hesitant, but he seems to get better at managing his symptoms and seeking out Keith when he needs a little more direction. After Keith’s trials with the Blade, he seems to understand better than ever the impact of silence between the two of them. They settle into a routine of voiceless questions and subtle cues that fold in with the rest of their silent language around the others, and Keith finally feels assured that Shiro won't take it upon himself suffer alone any more.

There's a banging at his door. Quiet, but enough to jolt him into confused alertness. It has to be late. The ambient lighting in his room has faded, and there's no glow coming from under the door. Keith wonders if he has heard anything at all. But then the sound of a groan from behind gritted teeth meets him and suddenly he's on his feet and slapping the access button to open his door. Shiro turns his head from where he's planted it against the wall, gaze distant, refusing to focus in spite of his clear effort. His hair is damp and flat, and sheen of sweat covers his upper body and brow. A blink and a breath. What a way to find out Shiro sleeps shirtless on the Castle Ship. The Black Paladin barely conceals a whimper as Keith stares, still half asleep. Not the time. Actually, _never_ the time. What is he thinking?...

Keith glances down to where Shiro grips the wrist of his prosthetic, artificial fingers clenched so tight that the metal joints squeal softly under the force.

“Keith…” he gasps. “I woke you. Sorry. I'll just—"

Keith pulls him inside and closes the door behind him before he can back out. There's a glassy, fevered look in his eyes as he stumbles into Keith at his direction. His throat works as though there's something lodged there when he swallows.

“I tried to… and the meditation… I just can't open it again…”

There's a menacing glint to the metal, even in the low light, and Keith takes hold of him at his elbows to guide him a little more gently. Whatever Shiro’s synapses are firing, it makes the Galra tech run hot, the internal mechanics working overtime. He knows he's rubbish at being a consoling or comforting presence even when fully awake, so he puts a conscious effort into keeping his voice soft.

“It's okay, Shiro. I'm glad you found me. Just sit down. Try to breathe slowly.”

He can see the tendons in Shiro’s jaw straining as he lowers himself down onto the edge of the bed and exhales through his nose. Every marker he’s come to recognise fires itself at Keith in giant flashing neon signs. He tries not to feel helpless.

“Nngh… it feels like it's on fire…”

“I'm sorry.”

Shiro huffs a humourless laugh.  
"Not exactly your fault, you know.”

“I'm still sorry.”  
He tries to be clinical in his approach as he stands in front of him.  
“When did this start?”

“I don't know. A couple of hours maybe? It was just a few jolts down my arm, so I tried to sleep it off. But then…”

Keith tries to coax his human hand away from its death grip to reduce some of the tension in his body. He's like a bowstring, pulled taut to its absolute limits and ready to snap. He relents, but only to take Keith's hand instead, pulling him a step closer and slumping forward to press his forehead to Keith’s belly.

“Help me... please.”

Keith’s only saving grace is that Shiro can't see him when his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush crimson. He places his hand, the one not gripped in Shiro’s, on his shoulder above the join between flesh and metal, half to steady himself, half to soothe his friend. Shiro has never done this before. He’s always been the noble, selfless one, sacrificing his needs for those around him. For him to come to anyone, vulnerable and pleading, he would have to be suffering significantly. Keith doesn't waste time with superficial reassurances.

“What have you tried so far?”

Shiro presses a little harder into the hollow just under his ribs and Keith has to ground his footing so he doesn't stumble a step back.

“Shiro,” he says a little more firmly. “Stay with me. Did you try the mirror box?”

His shirt shifts as Shiro nods. Keith feels the heat of his breath through the thin material as Shiro’s pain swings him between delirium and sobriety.  
"Yeah, and I,” he stops short, swallowing as if to keep his voice as level as he can, “and I tried to manipulate it myself but it's like the whole thing has seized again. I can't make it straighten out. It feels like it's just trying to curl in on itself.”

Keith furiously sifts through his sleep-addled mind for what he should try next, unconsciously squeezing Shiro’s shoulder. It feels like solid rock under his hand, and Shiro gives a choked off cry. Keith lets go like he's been scalded.

“Shit! Shiro, I'm so sorry!”

Shiro leans back then, looking exhausted as he meets Keith’s eyes again, but still holding onto his hand.  
"It's fine, it's fine. Actually, could you try it again?”

Keith feels his gut twist unpleasantly.  
“But… doesn't it hurt?”

Shiro's breathy laugh does little to ease him.  
“So much.”  
He finally releases Keith's hand to touch the top of his prosthetic with a wince.  
“But in a good way. I think. I'm willing to try anything at this point. I'm seriously considering jumping in a pod if this doesn't work.”

He says it so lightly, but Keith knows the sentiment behind it is anything but. After recovering from their first real clash with Zarkon, Shiro had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't going back in the cryopods unless he was on the cusp of death with no other option. Physical repair was one thing, but healing his mental wounds was something he just wasn't ready for yet on his own. The pods didn't discriminate though, and after Shiro stumbled out into his arms following his first foray in, Keith had sensed his unease immediately. He could still remember how Shiro had made him promise not to put him back.

Keith needs to make sure he isn't misunderstanding the situation now.

“You want me to massage your shoulder?”

He regrets asking right away, because Shiro manages to look both pained and terribly embarrassed all at once.

“Well. When you put it like that—”

“I'll do it."  
There's a bead of sweat gathering at Shiro’s temple, and Keith reaches to brush it away without thought. Shiro's breathing suddenly becomes laboured again.  
“Get comfortable.”  
Shiro gives him a look. He amends.  
“As comfortable as you can. Sit back a little further.”  
Shiro obeys, shuffling back until his feet are on the bed too. Keith climbs after him, settling on his knees at his back. He rubs his hands together in a rushed attempt to warm them with friction.  
"Tell me if you need me to adjust the pressure.”

Shiro makes a hollow sound.  
"Don't bother being gentle. As hard as you can.”

Keith feels his ears burn in response, begging his midnight monkey brain not to reinterpret the context. Shiro needs his help, not his wandering, unwelcome thoughts. He clears his throat, glad again that Shiro doesn't see his reaction.  
“I haven't done this before so I'm not going to get upset if you tell me I'm doing a shit job,” he says as he rests his hands tentatively on his shoulder.

“Oh, so I’m your first then?”  
Despite the tease in his tone, Shiro freezes instantly while Keith faintly thinks he can feel his soul departing its fleshbound vessel.  
“Please… _please_ ignore me. The pain is making me loopy, I swear. I'm sorry.”

Keith forces himself to shrug.  
“No big,” he says, nonchalant tone at odds with the full cardiac failure currently occupying in his chest.  
“I'm a little rusty on my muscular anatomy so just bear with me a tick.”

He decides to target his trapezius first, away from the join of the prosthesis, but where he can see Shiro plainly carries most of his tension in a bridge between his shoulder and neck. There's hardly any give under his fingers, and Keith watches Shiro's spine straighten with a shock of pain, before his head rolls to hang forward.

“Don't hold your breath.”  
Shiro gasps out unsteadily in response. Keith pauses, thumbs pressed firmly against Shiro’s skin.  
“Okay?”

Shiro nods, or close enough to it anyway, so he continues. The muscle is unyielding, resisting the pressure. Tendons hold fast under his fingers, then release like an elastic band when they finally reach their limits. Shiro grunts at a particularly stubborn spot, and Keith interrupts his path to try to soothe the knot there first. He tries not to flinch as Shiro starts leaning back into the touch, closer to his chest.

“Is it still hurting?” he asks, attempting to ignore the creep of Shiro’s body heat closing in.

“You bet,” he laughs weakly. He sinks a little further back. It limits the movements of Keith's hands. “But… less. The burning isn't as bad. And the pain here,” he reaches up to touch Keith's hands with flesh fingers, “is different. It's a good hurt.”

The galra tech is still clenched against his chest, but Keith doesn't insult him with a skeptical response. Instead he takes note of the way Shiro’s eyes struggle to stay open and his hand starts to slip from his shoulder. Keith shifts off of his knees to wriggle until his back is against the wall, sitting properly and tapping his chest when Shiro looks at him in confusion.  
“Lay back.”

Shiro fidgets, uncertain.  
“Keith…”

“You're tired, right? It's easier than having you listing to one side. Besides, I get to rest a little too this way.”

That seems to be enough to convince him, because he shuffles with a wince to slump into the bracket of Keith's thighs, metal arm braced to his chest. Keith tries to quiet a tiny _oof_ as his weight falls against his chest with a jolt when Shiro slips.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

Keith just shakes his head as he assesses how best to continue.  
“Stop stressing,” he grumbles, clinging to disgruntlement lest his cheeks flame tellingly.  
He tucks an arm under Shiro’s to reach across his ribs and meet his other hand at his deltoid. His chest is a little too broad for the span of Keith’s stretch, and so he unintentionally pulls him in closer until his back is pressed tight to him. Keith hears him let out a little sound of discomfort, but then his head tips back when he starts pressing into his shoulder again. The short, buzzed hair of his undercut brushes at Keith's collar and his fringe tickles lightly at his jaw. He fights back the urge to shiver at the sensation.

Whatever trepidation Shiro felt for their change of position seems quickly forgotten. Keith can feel him sinking further into his chest, and his human arm hooks under Keith's knee when he shifts to get more comfortable. It wrings something tight behind his navel, and he feels his heart thud a little more insistently at Shiro’s back. He hopes he can't tell.

He risks a glance down. He can see the metal fingers of his prosthetic are starting to slowly unfurl, and the slow rise and fall of the limb as it lies across his chest indicates his breathing has evened out. He tries not to linger as he draws his gaze up to Shiro’s face, but he finds that his eyes are closed. His expression pinches occasionally when Keith hits another knot, but the most part he seems almost relaxed. A silly pride he doesn't deserve flares in Keith’s chest at the sight. He pats Shiro's shoulder and watches as he blinks blearily up at him. With a swell of his heart, Keith realises he must have almost been asleep. It's a bizarrely intimate thought.

“Turn around so I can get at your back properly.”

The thought of suffering through eye contact while Shiro sits in front of him is daunting, but Keith reminds himself pointedly that all of this is just clinical. It's not weird. Not unless he tries to make it weird in his own stupid head.

In a testament to just how tired and out of it he must be, Shiro doesn't even question the instruction. He simply pushes himself up just enough to twist and flop back down prone on Keith's chest. Keith hears himself squeak embarrassingly, but Shiro doesn't seem to notice, tucking his face against Keith’s overly warm neck. It's not at all what he meant, but it catches him so far off guard that doesn't know how to correct him. Doesn't know if he wants to.

Keith forces his focus back to the metal limb between them, where it pushes uncomfortably into his stomach.

“Any chance we can move this, Shiro?” he asks, strained, as he takes hold of the elbow.

Shiro groans into his skin, but little by little the limb gives in to Keith’s urging. It curls around Keith’s waist when it finally comes free, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt to spread across the small of his back. Coupled by the feeling of Shiro's bare chest pressing into the space left behind, Keith thinks he might just combust. But he doesn't dare comment, for the fear of Shiro springing away seems far worse than his close contact. He coaches his heart rate down and runs his fingers over the ripple of muscle over Shiro’s scapula, pushing in again. Shiro huffs, and Keith tries not to squirm at the feeling of hot, wet breath at his neck.  
“Still okay?”

“S’good,” Shiro mumbles in reply, and the sleep-sweetened tone makes that silly pride of Keith's blaze to life again. He continues his task diligently, if only to hear that voice again.

It works too well.

“Shiro?”

There's no response, save the quiet, slow breaths close to his ear, and Keith's chest jolts.

 _He’s asleep… You actually lulled him to sleep,_ his brain provides unhelpfully.

Then the internal scramble begins.

 _What are you going to do? You can't just leave him like this. What about when he wakes up?... But what if he can't get back to sleep? He was so tired. It would be cruel to stir him now. He probably hasn't slept properly in ages… But you can't sit up like this all night. It can't be good for his spine. It's_ definitely _not good for yours. Maybe… if you just…_

Carefully, he lifts his hips and shifts, sliding down the wall in increments. It's a covert operation, one that has Keith starting to sweat by the time he manages to lay flat on the mattress. By some miracle, it doesn't wake Shiro, or even displace him. The metal arm around him rucks his shirt up higher when fingers curl over his shoulder, bunching the hem around his ribs. A leg hooks around his and Keith bites off a gasp when a warm, flesh hand grips onto his bare hip.

Oh. Takashi Shirogane, Black Paladin, Defender of the Universe, likes to snuggle. That's unexpected. If it was anyone else, Keith would shove them away immediately, no matter the scenario. For Shiro, he finds he doesn't mind. Actually, that might be understating it. He welcomes it. Craves it, even. But his discomfort isn't mutually exclusive. Skin to skin contact feels so wildly foreign and it ignites his fight or flight compulsion. For the sake of not waking Shiro, he swallows it down.

It must paint a ridiculous picture. Shiro barely fits on the bed, his body dwarfing Keith’s. Yet he clings to him like a child, pillowing his head on his chest. Keith is surprised to find his bulk isn't uncomfortable. The weight is calming, almost. It confuses the hell out of him. He adjusts his arms awkwardly, not sure where to put them, before he tentatively moves to cradle Shiro’s head. He freezes when he shifts at the touch, but he only sighs softly in his sleep, so Keith lets himself breathe again. As he forces himself to ease into it, he becomes aware of how protective he feels. Of this moment, of Shiro. He scratches at the short hair at the base of his skull, and tightens his grip when Shiro makes another content sound. It buzzes straight to his chest and pumps through his veins. This? He could definitely hold on to this. But there's a niggling reminder in the back of his skull that it isn't real, and he will have to face that rather soon. The heavy blanket of exhaustion wraps him up and weighs down his eyes. He can deal with the fallout in the morning.

* * *

Shiro tries so hard not to stir him, he can tell, but it's hard to remain undisturbed when the weight and heat pressed to his body disappears all at once and tender hands smooth his shirt down in an attempt to preserve his modesty.

Keith is a coward, so he keeps his eyes closed and focuses on staying as still as possible when fingers graze his skin. He hears a sigh.

“I know you're awake.”

Keith gulps, not ready to face the music so early. But there's no point in pretending now. He hesitantly opens his eyes. Shiro is far closer than he expects, bearing over him with hands on the mattress either side of his body.

“You should have woken me,” Shiro says, voice rough from sleep.

Keith's heart plummets, because he knew, he _knew_ this would happen and still he was foolish enough to willfully ignore his common sense.  
“Would you have preferred that?” he asks, staring at the ceiling to avoid his eyes. He feels Shiro’s weight shift. He isn't moving away though. Why isn't he moving away?

“You couldn't have been comfortable,” Shiro says.

Waking has made Keith stupid.  
“Best sleep I've had in ages, actually,” he mumbles, eyes flicking back to Shiro’s face and - oh - a blush spreads under his scar. Keith thinks he flatlines.

“Me too.”

And just like that, he's shocked back to life again.

Shiro stares at him, conflict written into his face. Keith's eyes are drawn to where he chews on his bottom lip. He would very much like to bite—

“Please tell me now if I'm misunderstanding this,” Shiro says desperately, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Keith feels his skin grow unbearably hot.  
“Depends what ‘this’ is,” he replies, because he's just as terrified of what Shiro means too.

Shiro takes a deep breath and Keith holds his as grey eyes flick between his for a moment that seems to last an eternity.  
“I want to kiss you,” he finally says, voice low and steady.

Keith returns his stare seriously.  
“I really think you should.”

And Shiro's expression cracks. Surprise, relief and joy play out in front of him, clear as day, and he huffs out a soft laugh with a smile that reaches all the way to his eyes. It beautiful.

“Okay, then,” he says, as if it's that simple.

Keith closes his eyes as just-bitten lips press gently to his. It's chaste and sweet, but it lingers in the very best way, and Keith still feels breathless when Shiro pulls back.

“Am I dreaming?” he asks quietly.

He hears the rumble of laughter above him.

“If you are, I'm enjoying being part of it.”

Keith opens his eyes again, looking up into Shiro’s face over him.

“Hi,” he says softly.

Keith swallows and smiles back weakly.  
“Hi.”

* * *

Shiro comes to him half a dozen times before they give up on the charade and Keith starts sleeping in his bed. They're mere hours away from facing Zarkon if the Blade's intelligence is correct, they both know. These precious last moments should be used for rest to ready them for the battle ahead. But Shiro just sits there, staring at him as if trying to commit his face to memory, human fingers tracing the shape of his jaw and cheek. Keith watches him silently, kissing his fingertips when they brush over his lips. Shiro breaks the quiet.

“I feel like something is going to happen,” he confesses. “Something terrible…”

The doubt surprises Keith, though it shouldn't. The bravado he puts up for everyone is just that. Here, where it's just them and he can be vulnerable, Keith knows Shiro has the same fears as everyone else. He nestles closer.

“I won't let anything happen to you,” he promises.

Shiro smiles crookedly.  
"I feel like I should be the one saying I'll protect you.”

Keith hums sleepily.  
“We can do this. I'll never stop fighting for you.”

“How terribly sentimental of you,” Shiro teases, laughing when Keith grumbles in reply. The thumb on his cheek stills.

“I love you.”

Keith is suddenly very awake, eyes wide open. Shiro just watches him patiently as his lips part uselessly and he tries to find his voice. He knew, he really did, but to hear it out loud is something else entirely.

“I love you too,” he croaks back. Then he reaches to pull Shiro to him by the nape of his neck. Shiro goes easily, and kisses him languid and slow. Their breath is short when they come apart, and there's such a sweet affection in Shiro's eyes as he takes his hand.  
"More than anything in the universe.”

Shiro kisses his palm.  
“More than everything in the universe,” he answers softly.

Because there's only so long Keith can bear such intense, intimate silence, he’s the one who breaks it this time.  
“How's your arm?”

“A little tight,” Shiro answers willingly. There's no hesitation or attempt to downplay or hide. It makes Keith appreciate how far they've come.

“Maybe a hot shower will help,” he suggests, reaching up to squeeze his right shoulder.

Shiro groans appreciatively, but shakes his head.  
“I don't want to leave your side for a moment,” he says, flopping down onto the bed and burying his face in Keith’s neck.

“Now who's the sentimental one?”  
Keith feels him grin against his skin.  
"We could…” he clears his throat, “together. If you want.”  
It's a risk. Shiro is nothing if not a gentleman, and he seems determined to take everything slow.

(“We’ve waited this long, Keith,” he had told him one night, stilling the hands on his waistband and tucking them both under the blankets. “It's not a race.”)

But maybe not now. He sits up, and there's a hungry look in his eyes.  
"Are you blushing there?” he teases.

“No,” Keith growls, feeling his face heat a little more.

Shiro laughs and kisses him again. Keith tries to follow when he pulls away, so Shiro tugs them both to their feet.  
“Alright then, but only if you're sure.”

Keith nods furiously, uncaring of how eager he seems. God, he’s waiting to get his hands on him since the first morning they had woken up together. Before, really, if he's honest. Shiro leads him backwards into the adjacent bathroom with heavy hands on his hips while Keith trails the scars on his chest. Shiro tries to distract him by dipping his head to nip at his neck, but Keith isn't having any of it. He wriggles out of his grip so he can pull his shirt over his head from the collar as Shiro watches, enraptured. It embarrasses him, but bolsters him with a surge of pride as Shiro backs him up against the sink and makes his body bow under the weight of a fierce kiss. Keith supposes facing their mortality has its perks if it instills Shiro with this much urgency.

His lips trail down to his sternum, then in a wet line down to his navel. Keith sucks in a hard breath and feels his belly tighten as fingers hook into his waistband. Shiro pauses to pull back and straighten, watching him carefully.  
“This okay?”

“Jesus Christ, Shiro. Don't make me beg,” Keith mutters.

Shiro laughs quietly, brushing his nose against his.  
"Maybe another time.”

Keith helps him as he pulls his sweatpants down, wriggling and kicking his legs free. He's already embarrassingly hard, but Shiro seats him on the cold edge of the sink and holds him still for a moment to admire him. It makes Keith flush until he can see his chest going blotchy when he glances down at himself.

“Beautiful,” Shiro says, tracing his hipbone with a warm metal finger. It sounds so genuine that it makes Keith squirm.

“Now you,” he grumbles, in an attempt to not sound so moved by a single word.

Shiro laughs again, but complies, tugging down his slacks to step out of them. Keith is smug to find he's just as affected, but he barely has time to enjoy the view before Shiro steps between his thighs and takes them both in hand. Keith's head lands with a loud thud against the mirror behind him. It's too much, too soon, and Keith is keen not to humiliate himself this early.

“Maybe this can wait until we're under the water,” he suggests, strained.

Shiro is considerate enough to release him immediately, leaning over him to latch on to the exposed column of his throat. Sure hands hook under his thighs and lift, carrying him over to the shower. Keith expects him to pick up where he left off immediately, but instead Shiro lowers him to his feet tenderly and turns his attention to the taps, enduring the brunt of the initial spray and taking his time to get the temperature right. He sighs, content, as the room starts steaming and for a moment Keith is happy to just watch him as he soaks his hair, then pushes it back away from his face. Goosebumps spread over his skin where errant drops of water land and Shiro opens his eyes just in time to see him shiver.

“Come here,” he coaxes, and Keith is helpless to resist as he pulls him under the stream. He reaches around him for the soap dish, lathering his hands before sinking them into Keith’s hair. Keith closes his eyes as he massages his scalp, and he feels Shiro lean in closer to deposit a light kiss to each lid.

They focus on just bathing for a moment, but once the soap disappears down the drain, Shiro leans down to kiss him and wrap his hand around both of them again, stroking slowly. The water makes the friction more bearable, and Keith bucks his hips up with a gasp.

“I want...” he whispers hoarsely when he feels close. But he doesn't know how to ask. “Please, I want to feel you…”

Shiro understands, but he shakes his head and Keith almost whines.  
“Not tonight, baby. After the battle. I'll take my time with you. Make you feel so good, I promise. We’ll have all the time in the universe.”

Keith comes like that and reaches down to stroke Shiro through it until he joins him with a grunt too, washing the evidence down the drain. Shiro reaches behind them to turn off the water, then carefully towels them both down while Keith recovers from his high. Keith can bring himself to do little but kiss him lazily, and so Shiro carries him back to their bed.

In the morning, they're only afforded a few waking moments to bask in gentle touches and unhurried kisses before Coran’s voice breaks through their revelry. Keith sighs, but Shiro gets up instantly and the two of them don their Paladin armour with efficiency and head to the Lions together. This is it. Their second, and maybe final chance to stop Zarkon once and for all.

Keith pauses before they go through to the hangar, pulling him down for one last kiss before the end.

“See you on the other side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a 1k introspect into phantom limb pain but then I started stressing about Season 6.
> 
> I formatted this on mobile so I fully expect it will look a little wonky, but if anything looks particularly gross, please feel free to let me know as I go underground for Friday.
> 
> Submit your eulogies to me at copilotsheith on [tumblr](http://copilotsheith.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/copilotsheith)
> 
> Edit: @nb_santiago drew [this incredible image](https://twitter.com/nb_santiago/status/1007114123841277952?s=19>) from the sparring scene on twitter which you should definitely check out!!


	2. Just Bones and Insecurities

Keith is well acquainted with Hell. He's walked it twice now. The flames envelope him like a second skin. Wrap and hold him like the arms of a lover lost. Grip and strangle him like a mortal foe.

He loses track of how long he searches through the rubble. Not that he was ever counting. He’s sifted through every inch of debris he can find, and still… nothing. Hunger and exhaustion take a back seat until Red gently resists his controls to echo her concern to her pilot. Keith isn't ready to accept it, but dread settles like a stone in his belly all the same.

Shiro is gone.

Emotional soup, Hunk calls it. It's almost apt. Keith is in mourning, full blown denial. Every day he wakes terrified and wracked with anger for a universe that would steal Shiro again. Guilt churns his stomach until it makes him sick. And yet, he still feels a glimmer of desperate hope. If his body isn't floating with the rest of the scraps of battle, then that must mean he's still out there somewhere, lost. But maybe - God, just maybe - alive. Keith will find him even if it ends up killing him.

The others mourn with him, but only too briefly. Keith feels himself drift further from them with every new smile he sees on their faces, every meeting for new alliances, every moment wasted on not looking for Shiro. Keith doesn't understand how they can act like life hasn't stopped still. Not when Keith's has been frozen for weeks.

Lance and Allura seem to think piloting Black would be a dream. For Keith, it's nothing short of a living nightmare. Black is earnest in his welcome and makes it clear he won't accept anyone else. It’s salt in a wound that refuses to close, and Keith feels haunted every time he sits in Shiro’s seat in Shiro's Lion and takes hold of Shiro's controls.

Shiro was wrong. He's a terrible leader. The team bond doesn't feel the same anymore. Lance actually cooperates with him in Red, but it feels an awful lot like pity, and perhaps that's worse than his snark. Allura tries to relate with the loss of her father. He wants to appreciate the attempt, but he wants to scream that it's not the same even more.

 _We'll have all the time in the universe_. That's what he said to him that last night. It turns out that was no time at all. He feels himself become desensitized to everything around him with every month that passes. The thread of hope runs bare, and sometimes it feels like he drifts through space in a shell. Then the loss hits him again, as hard as the first day, and he just wants to thrust his controls forward and scream until the Castle Ship falls away behind him. He wants answers. He wants to connect with his fellow Paladins again. He wants to get to the bottom of Lotor’s plan. He wants to figure out how to finish what they all started together.

He wants Shiro. He wants him so much. Shiro would know what to do.

Black edges gently at the corners of his mind, and doesn't judge when he lets out a single, quiet sob. He doesn't send comprehensive words to him. His bond is not yet as solid as it was with Red, but he gets the sense that his deep loss is shared. He misses him in the pilot's seat too. And he hasn't given up either. That's enough to keep Keith going.

Shiro would want him to be a better leader, so he tries. He helps Coran around the Castle, asks Pidge what she has found about her brother and father, and accompanies Allura for diplomatic meetings, sans the dinner table outbursts. He even listens patiently when Hunk and Lance talk about how they miss Earth. Keith doesn't care for silly concepts of home. Attachments to a single physical place make so little sense. There’s no security to be found in a shack or a dorm room or a Castle. But Keith thinks of Shiro and wonders if maybe he can understand. Perhaps home isn't a place for Keith, it's a person. And right now, he feels terribly homesick.

He finds these little things make the team more receptive when he insists on missions with unreliable information that carry hints that _might_ lead to more clues about Shiro's vanishing act. But it's been so long with no real progress that Keith’s memory is starting to become warbled. He thinks he can remember how Shiro’s skin feels against his, but he doesn't know how much is real and what is just his mind filling in the blanks. The sound of his heartbeat in his ear is slowly fading, and the image grey eyes grows a little darker every day. It scares Keith so much more than Haggar or Lotor or death.

The universe has the worst sense of humour, so it throws him a cruel, beautiful reminder in the form of Sven… then promptly takes him away from him too. Keith barely knows the man at all, not really, but he returns directly to his room to scream into his pillow when they get back to the Castle and hopes against hope that he somehow still lives in that other Universe.

Keith stares unseeing into the vastness of space as they flee the Galra cruiser with their new intelligence. Black nudges him gently, but doesn't push when he doesn't respond. Maybe it is truly hopeless. The universe extends forever, and Shiro is not even a speck within it. Even if he is alive, what chance does he truly have of ever finding him? Black growls at that, and Keith snaps to attention, horrified at himself.

“I'm not giving up,” he says out loud, for himself and the Lion.  
“He never gave up. If it takes forever, then so be it. I'll find him.” 

Black settles, pleased. Keith takes a breath and refocuses.

It's only a matter of days later when Black ignores his commands to turn and roar into the darkness behind them. For a moment, Keith is confused, but then realisation dawns on him in such a way that the blood stills in veins.

“We found him…” 

* * *

Black takes the tiny, insignificant Galra fighter ship floating dead in space into his body, and Keith immediately abandons his pilot’s seat, trusting the Lion to bring them back to the Castle hangar. He wills his legs to move faster than they ever have, but a body is trying to crawl from the fighter, emaciated and unsteady, by the time he meets it. They both stop still when they see each other.

“Keith…”

His voice is hoarse, barely audible, but it's _his_. Keith doesn't have enough time to take in the hair, the old pilot's suit or the stubble over drawn skin, before he sees his knees buckle. Keith lunges forward to catch him, shaking from head to toe.

“It's okay Shiro, I've got you.”

Shiro gives the smallest of smiles, before his eyes roll back and he slumps in his hold. Black stays silent, but Keith doesn't notice.

“ _Keith!_ ” Allura calls into his ear. “ _What's going on? What can you see?_ ”

“It's him,” Keith says breathlessly, all at once.  
He can hear the blood rushing through his ears as the others come through the comms with sounds of disbelief and surprise. He ignores the questions that follow, doesn't hear them, shedding his helmet. He gathers up the man in his arms to cradle him tenderly, unable to help himself as he presses his cheek to the top of his head with an uneven breath. He weighs alarmingly less than he should, and he feels cold in his arms. But he's back. 

He's home.

* * *

Keith doesn't linger in the hangar. He sees Lance scramble to disembark from Red but he refuses to pause. Shiro wouldn't want them to see him like this. Despite his best efforts, they do catch up to him though, with wide eyes and hushed voices. 

“What happened to him?”

“He looks starved.”

“How did he find us?”

“I'll get Coran to ready one of the cryopods.”

“No pods,” Keith says firmly, holding him closer. He would hate that. He doesn't know what Shiro has been through yet, but he doesn't want to awaken any new demons.  
“He'll need food and water,” he says, and they seem to understand it's a dismissal. 

Keith barely registers that he's walked to his own room until he opens the door. The first few weeks after Shiro’s disappearance, he had slept exclusively in the lost Paladin’s bed. But then the room started smelling less like Shiro and more like Keith, and he had fled in an urgent attempt to preserve what little left he had of him. His quarters are far more sparse than Shiro's. The walls are bare of notes and handwritten strategies, and clothes remain tucked out of sight under the bunk. Perhaps it is less welcoming than Shiro's room, but Keith's exhaustion sinks into him, and he can't muster the strength to turn and march them both in the other direction. Shiro starts to stir as he steps through the doorframe. His second word is the same as his first. 

“Keith…”

Keith presses his forehead against his as he carries him straight through to the bathroom.

“You’re safe. You found us. I'm going to take care of you this time, I promise.”

Shiro makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, then shifts as if he wants to be let down. Keith carefully sets him on his feet by the sink where he can cling to the bench. He hears the faucet rush as he turns to the shower to get the water running at the right temperature while Shiro drinks from the tap.

“Once I've got you in the shower, I'll go get something for you to eat.”

“No!”

Keith looks back just in time to see him slip on his feet, an arm shooting out to steady him.

“Please don't leave me,” Shiro begs, eyes and grip desperate.

Keith swallows the lump in his throat.  
“Easy,” he soothes. “I won't leave. I promise.”  
He tells himself not to cry.  
“Let's get you out of this suit, okay?” 

Shiro is too tired to protest, but Keith waits all the same until he finally nods. The suit stinks. He must have been in it for days. That thought is banished immediately though when Keith sees what lies underneath it. His heart twists violently at the sight of Galra prisoner garb and he sucks in a hard breath. He cares little for the material, ripping it down the front in a contained fit of anger. At them. At himself. He tells himself it's so Shiro doesn't have to raise his hands above his head to get it off. It's not true.

“I'm sorry,” Keith whispers to him.  
“I let it happen again. I'm so sorry.” 

Shiro can barely manage to shake his head as Keith continues to undress him carefully. Once he's bare, Keith shucks off his paladin armour gracelessly and envelopes him again. Shiro gives a full body shiver, and Keith isn't sure whether it's because he's cold or if it's the same relief he feels for the return of skin-on-skin contact.

“I made the water warm,” he coaxes gently.

Shiro buries his face into the side of his neck so that Keith can feel the scratch of stubble on his skin. He breathes in deeply there, making Keith shudder, then takes a tentative step forward. Keith guides him into the shower, sitting them both down under the spray and Shiro rests in the cradle of his thighs to lay heavily against his chest. Digging his heels into the tiles so he can stretch a little higher, Keith reaches for the soap and with careful hands he starts washing him, checking him over for injuries. He’s covered in new bruises and lacerations, but there’s a burn on his thigh, a hand print that is in its final stages of healing. He won't ask now, not so soon, but he takes extra care around the area and drops a brief kiss to his shoulder.

Then there's his hair. It's disturbingly long. Keith feels ill at the thought of just how much time has passed. Even his undercut has grown out to brush past his shoulders. It's tangled to hell, and Keith winces as his fingers snag in it. He patiently combs through it piece by piece until the knots come free, and it sits wet and tamed across his shoulders.

It’s not at all like the last time they bathed together. There's nothing inherently sexual about the moment now. It would almost be clinical were it not for the tender way he washed away the soap suds, or the desperate cling of Shiro's hand on his knee. They sit there for a long time under the hot spray, just holding each other, before Keith speaks, cheek on his shoulder and watching his face.

“How's your arm?”

There's no pinch of his brow or clench of his jaw. Keith believes him when he replies.

“Completely fine, actually.”

The response unsettles him more than it should.

When he towels them off and digs around for clothes for them both, he finds Hunk has left food for the two of them. Shiro eyes it uninterestedly, but Keith makes him eat both portions slowly while he changes and covers him on the bed with a new blanket. When he sits down beside him, Shiro immediately curls into him and Keith holds him tight to his chest as he pulls him down. Shiro succumbs to exhaustion within moments, but his sleep is fitful, and Keith stays awake through it all so he can soothe him through his nightmares. The team affords him two full days uninterrupted before they call him away for their next mission.

Shiro is still propped up against his pillow when he returns back to the Castle, but Keith can already tell he's improving. His body is in a much better state, but Keith knows there's still a mental barrier to overcome. Shiro can't piece together what happened to him, and he doesn't understand why Black sent him into the clutches of the Galra again. Keith can tell he has little desire to venture out from the room for now, but he knows he can't coddle him. Part of that is sticking to his routine in the Castle. He reminds Shiro how valuable he is to the team, how much he is needed by everyone. Gently, he encourages him to join them all when he feels ready.

Keith wants nothing more than to stay with him while he rests, but he knows they're waiting for him on the bridge, so he ensures he's comfortable and feels safe before he heads for the door.

“Hey, Keith?”

He pauses at the doorframe to look back at the miracle sitting in his bed.

“How many times are you going to have to save me before this is over?”

The answer comes with no hesitation, because it's an absolute truth that he has always known - will _always_ know.

“As many times as it takes.”

* * *

Shiro cuts his hair, shaves away the stubble and starts to look a little more like himself. His head hurts instead of his arm now, which tips Keith’s axis for reasons he can't explain. He pushes it aside when Shiro comes to him at night to slip cold fingers under his shirt and pull him close. He's different again though, only this time Keith doesn't observe it, he just feels it. 

Keith sends Shiro on to lead the team, but Black won't budge in his hangar. A strange dread sinks its claws into Keith's skin and holds tight as he throws on his helmet to take his place. Shiro looks dejected as he rushes past him, but the team is already screaming in his ear, so he can't stop to check if he's okay. He can sense Black is on edge the second he enters the cockpit, and the atmosphere is so thick with it that it almost suffocates him. He responds by mentally pushing back at the Lion, a little angry at Shiro’s rejection, and immediately Black pulls away apologetically so he can fly with a clear head. The unsettling thoughts creep back though once the battle with Lotor is over and they return to the Castle Ship, making the hair on his arms stand on end.

“What is it?” he says out loud, frustrated, to the control monitor. “What's wrong?”  
Black just falls eerily silent. 

That uneasy feeling amplifies when Shiro starts trying to take back control in little ways, from the Bridge when they're in the Lions, and in their briefings. Keith relents to him because he's still the best man for the job, even if Black suddenly seems to disagree. But it hurts him in an unusual way. Wasn't this what Shiro wanted for him? Keith can't help but feel undermined and confused. Shiro has never brushed him aside like this before.

But he still looks at him with the same adoration in his eyes, touches him with pure reverence and whispers sweet words of how proud he is of him when they're alone. It's easy for Keith to push his paranoia to the side when he basks in the mere fact that he's alive and back on the Castle Ship.

He departs for missions with the Blades, because Kolivan’s work is vital, and he's already so undermanned. It also offers him the tease of questions unanswered about his own past, and Keith can't deny that's part of his motivation too. But Shiro grows more distant every time he leaves the ship, until the easy touches stop and he starts sleeping alone. He tells him that he supports him, then admonishes that Voltron needs their leader and confuses him all over again. Keith’s entire being screams for closeness, but the gap between them yawns and widens.

It all comes to a head when he walks straight to the Bridge in his Blades uniform fresh off another disastrous sting and finds the whole team staring him down from across the room. Hearing Black has finally accepted Shiro again leaves him both overjoyed and heartbroken. The accusations that follow back him further into the corner he has become all too familiar with over these last few weeks. Lance has come so far with Red and Allura excels in ways they couldn't imagine in Blue. He’s not the leader Shiro had hoped for. There's no place for him here. Shiro holds him for the first time in an age and the team proclaims they'll miss him, but no one fights for him to stay when his decision is made. He would never admit it out loud, but his heart shatters when he glances back one last time to Shiro as he lets him go.

* * *

Keith doesn't find his place in the universe with the Blades. He's still the outsider here too; the scrappy, skinny half-human with an emotional attachment problem. Kolivan scolds him, but Keith just grits his teeth and bears it. At least he's finally feeling a little useful again, albeit exponentially emptier. 

In his rare downtime between chasing down Quintessence supply lines, Kolivan surprises him by tracking down the holo-shows from Voltron’s goodwill shows. It offers a departure from the sombre gloom of risking his life every day, but the jury’s out on whether it makes him feel any better. He curls up on his bunk and wipes away silent tears as he watches the team fight gaudy props and perform what could only be deemed Voltron On Ice. It's a far less polished production than Disney, though. It would be funny if he didn't miss them all so terribly.

He doesn't quite understand why Allura is playing his role when he is no longer a Paladin. Or if he should he be offended by her apathetic portrayal for that matter. Maybe he's not the most forthcoming person in the universe, but it still seems a little on the nose. Whoever is directing Hunk is also doing him a criminal injustice, in his humble opinion. He can almost feel poor Pidge cringing with every made up scientific term she reads from her scripts, and Lance… Well, he's clearly loving every second, actually. Big shock.

Shiro seems… happy. Keith is glad, but it hollows him out just a little more. He reaches out to the form of the Black Paladin in front of him and flinches when the hologram fizzles under his fingers. He shuts it off and rolls on his side, pulling his threadbare blanket over his head. He doesn't sleep a wink.

* * *

Keith can feel his breath held hot to his lips by his mask as he keeps watch. His partner is no Regris, but she's a damn sight way better at hacking into the Galra systems than him. Still, it's taking far longer than they had hoped and Keith is on edge. They have under a dobash before the sentry guards rotate back to their position. Kolivan has made it clear that they are to avoid engagement by all means necessary, but Keith doesn't like their chances. It's hard not to miss Pidge at a time like this. 

“Come on,” he hisses from his position at the door.

“Just a few more ticks,” comes the testy response.

They don't even have that. Keith hears telltale footfalls approaching and curses, activating his blade.

“I'm going to buy you some time. Get that information out of here the second you're done.”

Keith receives a grunt in response and takes it in the affirmative. He pauses a moment longer, then dashes from the shadows.

“Halt!”

Keith avoids their fire as he darts down the hall, drawing the guards away from the control room, ducking behind a turn in the corridor. The first arrives ahead of his companion, and Keith catches it off-side, disabling it with a single blow. He isn't so lucky with the second one. A miscalculation has his blade cutting through thin air, and suddenly the droid has hold of his wrist. Keith feels something wrench and pop as he's swung in an overhead arc and thrown into the wall. His arm goes useless immediately and Keith bites down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood in an effort not to scream. The pain blazes for a second before his body's defences kick in and he switches sword arms to protect himself from the next oncoming blow. Using his left side doesn't put him at a disadvantage, but the limpness in his right limits his movements just enough to make him slow. It takes too long to dispatch of the second sentry, and the moment it's down, agony flares down his arm like fire again.

With a strangled groan from behind gritted teeth, he holds the injured limb tight to his side and tries to gather his bearings. If he's lucky, his fellow Blade hasn't departed without him yet. If not…

The escape pod’s doors are closing when it comes into view, and Keith desperately sprints the gap, scraping in by the skin of his teeth. No words are exchanged by him and his partner, and she simply continues calmly keying in their coordinates as if he didn't almost get left behind. When she's done, she just looks at him expectantly where he's seething on the floor.

“What?” he snaps. “Did you get it or not?”

“I'm here, aren't I?” she replies.  
They're a terrible pair. He has no idea what Kolivan was thinking, sending them together. Their personalities are hardly complementary, and Keith knows if it wasn't for masks, they would be exchanging dirty looks with one another.  
“You going to fly this thing or not?” 

Keith’s answer is snide, nodding to his shoulder.  
“Can I do it one-handed?” 

He wants to growl when she shrugs. Wincing, he gets to his feet, still cradling the limb, and sits carefully in the pilot seat. There’s a numbness spreading through his fingers, but the agony in his upper arm overcompensates. It feels like it has been torn from his shoulder and it hangs like a limp doll. With difficulty, he navigates them away from the Galra cruiser, then sets the autopilot as soon as he can, sitting back to hold his arm still and fight back the nausea that comes with the pain. It burns from shoulder to elbow with no reprieve, and he can't help but think of how Shiro had once described the sensation of his phantom pains. He wonders if this is what it's like; wildfire that grows stronger and hotter until he wants to scream and cry. Maybe it's worse than this.

He hopes not.

Kolivan takes one look at him when he arrives back to the base before his brow pinches with disapproval. It's the only warning he gets before the Blade marches over to him, braces him with a firm hand on his collar and then shoves at the cuff of his shoulder. It cracks sickeningly and runs a bolt of lightning straight down to his fingers. Keith howls.

“See medical, then report for debrief,” Kolivan says firmly, ignoring the display. “Do not come to me with broken parts next time.”

Keith knows it's his way of showing concern, but pain makes him resent him for it, just for now.

* * *

He stays silent at Kolivan’s shoulder when he briefs the Castle Ship on the plan for Naxzela. The situation is dire and serious now that Zarkon is factored back into the equation once more, but Keith feels the vice on his heart tighten when his presence goes unacknowledged. It’s stupid. It's not like he addresses the team either. But he watches Shiro the entire time for a glimmer of _something_ and finds himself bereft. 

It all goes wrong. Naxzela is a trap and Voltron barely escapes its defences. But even making it off the planet's surface won't be enough. Haggar plans on destroying Voltron for good. She's twelve steps ahead and even the combined forces of the alliance can't stop her. The whole quadrant will be blown to dust if they don't do something soon. It sends Keith into a silent panic that consumes him whole. 

He’s lost him twice already. He can’t possibly live with a third. Thoughts of Voltron and the universe don't cross his mind. There is only Shiro. Putting meaning to life is a concept Keith doesn't entertain, but he supposes if the meaning to his is to die today so Shiro lives, then so be it. He has no hesitations.

He turns the fighter in a sharp arc and sets a course directly for the barrier. There’s no time for gentle goodbyes and heartbroken apologies. Time has always been an enemy - back on Garrison launch pads, in Castle Ship quarters, and now in the heat of battle. Teeth grit and knuckles bleach on his controls. He can hear Matt yelling in his ear, begging him to stop. Keith wishes he could say he's at peace, but it's not true. He's scared, so incredibly terrified, and not at all ready to die. But living in a universe without Shiro unquestionably is even more horrifying. This way he won’t have to know how that feels. This way, he has one last chance to save him. He’s a coward, he reminds himself again. He braces and closes his eyes to avoid seeing the end. 

A flash of light cuts through behind his eyelids as Matt yelps, and he pulls back on his controls out of pure, unwelcome survival instinct, eyes flying open. The mothership booms in front of him from an impact that isn't his own, and the shield breaks down. Haggar’s weapon disengages in a fury of fire. When the ship flees, he almost doesn't hear Lotor's voice on the open channel. Keith’s chest heaves and his heart flutters unevenly. He coughs back the bile on his tongue as his body catches up with what he had almost done. What he had been ready to do. His devotion had so nearly ended him today, but despite how hard he tremors, Keith knows one thing for sure: he'd die a million times over for Shiro, if that was what it took.

* * *

The Paladins invite Kolivan back to the Castle Ship when Lotor is secured in his prison chamber. Keith joins him, but only at the Blade's insistence. The others seem surprised and pleased to see him, and Keith isn't sure if that heals or hurts. They're all clearly exhausted, but Pidge and Hunk run to him to squeeze him tight and welcome him back while the others hang back.

“I'm glad you're all okay,” he says quietly, looking up to Shiro. He's rubbing at his temples tiredly, but he smiles and shifts to make sure he stands beside him when Pidge pulls him over.

“It was a bit touch and go for a while there,” Shiro admits. His shoulder brushes against Keith's and he frowns. For a moment, it seems like Shiro forgets Lotor completely, and he zeroes in on him as Allura starts talking.  
“You're trembling…” 

Keith catches Kolivan’s eye as he glances at them sidelong, before shooting what he hopes is a reassuring smile up to Shiro. He still isn't sure whether he's going to be sick.  
“Just leftover adrenaline I guess,” he says quietly. 

Shiro's hand twitches, like he would like to reach out and touch, but ultimately his arm stays still at his side.  
“It's been a long day. Make sure you get some rest after this.” 

Keith swallows.  
“Yeah… you too.”

Kolivan is level headed about Lotor, despite the team's doubts. Keith isn't sure what game the Prince is playing - first saving him, then handing himself over to Voltron - but he's curious about what he can offer the alliance. Lance and Allura in particular are suspicious, which Keith can understand. But Lotor has a surprise supporter in Shiro.

“I think we should listen to what he has to say. It's worth looking into any intelligence he shares. If it's a dead end… well, he's not going anywhere any time soon.” 

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Lance squawks, throwing his hands in the air. “The guy's a total psycho! We have no idea what his goal is here!”

Shiro ignores him, but catches Keith's surprised stare and suddenly goes on the defensive.  
“What? I thought at least you would be on my side in this.” 

Keith gapes uselessly, stunned by his tone. Accusations are not something he's used to hearing from him. Certainly not ones that are completely unprovoked too.  
“I _am_ on your side. I just didn't expect you to be on mine.” 

A hurt expression crosses Shiro's face, and Keith regrets the words immediately. But Kolivan cuts him off before he can correct himself.

“The Blue Paladin is right,” Keith feels Shiro tense beside him. “Lotor's motivations are unclear. But that doesn't mean we should waste an opportunity to see what he can offer us.”

Shiro's huff of vindication gives him whiplash.

“I just don't feel comfortable with us showing our hand so easily,” Coran muses thoughtfully. “If Lotor thinks we're chomping at the bit for information, that gives him the upper hand.”

“I don't think that's the case.”  
Keith feels everyone's eyes turn to him.  
“Lotor is the one at the disadvantage here. He’s antagonised Haggar. Lost his title. His generals are gone… I think this is a last stand. And who knows? The longer we wait, the more time he has to think. If he's desperate now, we need to act and capitalise on that. This could be what tips the scales in our favour. We should give it a chance.” 

Lance gives him a flat look.  
“Is this some kind of half-Galra secret bro-code thing, or...?” 

Pidge smacks him across the back of his head.

“Ow?! That actually hurt?”

“Good.”

“Look,” Keith says behind gritted teeth, “I haven't forgotten how much of a headache he was for us. But it would be stupid to lose this chance. I want to hear what he has to say.”

“Well I'm not talking to him,” Lance declares, crossing his arms.

An uneasy silence settles between the group.

“I'm… not terribly comfortable either,” Allura admits. “Not just yet. We only just escaped from Naxzela with our lives. I think we all should have some time to recover from that.”

“Yeah, I definitely vote food and nap before we play good cop, bad cop with a Galra Prince,” Hunk chimes in.

Keith mulls the words over his tongue for a moment.  
“I'll go,” he says quietly.  
He shrugs off the surprise that follows.  
“Like you said… half-Galra code or whatever.”

“Keith…” Shiro assesses him with what he thinks might be concern. “Are you sure? I'll come with you.”

He shakes his head, but offers him a smile.  
“Let me test the waters… Maybe I can make sure you're prepared for whatever he has up his sleeve if you're going to be dealing with him a lot from now on.”

“I disagree,” Kolivan says with a frown. “Lotor specifically stated he wished to speak with the Paladins.”

Keith feels his heart sink at that reminder, preparing to relent, when Shiro cuts in fiercely.  
“Keith _is_ a Paladin of Voltron.”  
He doesn't seem to hear Keith’s quiet, sharp intake of breath.  
“Just because he isn't piloting a Lion right now, doesn't mean he isn't part of this team. He was there when Lotor first crossed paths with the Castle. Lotor will listen when he realises that.”

There's a tense silence as the two stare each other down before Kolivan speaks again.  
“Very well. Keith, if you feel you are up to the task?” 

He can only nod in response, throat constricted by Shiro's words.

“In that case, I expect you to return with details on our next mission.”

“Yes sir.”  
His voice only cracks a little. 

“You'll be back at the base by the next quintant.”  
He leaves no room for negotiation, turning and departing for the hangar. Keith swallows as the door closes behind him. He has to focus on steadying his knees when a familiar hand touches his shoulder tentatively.

“We'll make sure there's food for you when you come back from Lotor's cell,” Shiro says softly. “Hopefully you will get everything you need and then maybe you can sleep a while before you go back to the Blades.” 

It sounds too good to pass up.

“I'll do my best.”

Shiro squeezes, then releases. Keith takes his cue.

“We'll have eyes on the cell at all times,” Coran calls after him. “If you're in distress, just give us the signal!” 

“And, uh… what exactly _is_ the signal?” Hunk deadpans.

“This!”  
Coran makes what could only be described as a dying bird call. Keith can _hear_ him flapping his arms behind him.

“I'll be fine,” Keith promises.  
“Get some rest, all of you.”

He has a long walk to clear his mind. He's starting to compartmentalise his brush with death, but now Shiro’s words bounce around in his head instead. Still a Paladin… The memory alone makes his eyes sting. He takes the steps down into the belly of the ship slowly so he can wipe his eyes and compose himself. He activates his mask, just to be safe.

Lotor rises to his feet quickly when he enters the room to his cell. His voice doesn’t betray his haste though, remaining calm and honey-sweet.  
“You're a little small to be a Blade, don't you think?”

Keith doesn't react, stopping still in front of the cell.  
“I've come to hear what you have to say, so speak.”

Lotor isn't interested in complying. Not at first. He walks up to the glass to assess him for a moment.  
“If I were a betting man, I'd say you're the little fighter I saved from their suicide flight.”

Keith's spine straightens, and he clenches his teeth behind his mask. He can only hope that Coran doesn't have ears on him too.

“Ah, a lucky guess it appears.”  
Lotor looks too pleased at his deduction.  
“No need to thank me of course. Saving your life was just a lucky coincidence, Black Paladin.”

“I'm not the Black Paladin,” Keith shoots back automatically.

“Oh?” Lotor replies casually. “Are you sure? I recognised that piloting style immediately. It was just like the one I saw in the Black Lion.”  
He glances him over and Keith clenches his fist.  
“Though I must say I'm surprised to see a Paladin carrying a Luxite dagger. Who knew the Black Lion was so… singular in its taste in pilots?”

Keith deactivates his mask with lips curled into a snarl.  
“I'm not here to chat.”

Lotor's eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. But then Keith is caught just the same when the Prince’s expression softens.  
“I see. We are more alike than I realised.”

Keith stands firm.  
“I doubt it. I won't play this game, Lotor.”

But Lotor is unperturbed.  
“What is your name?”

He feels his fingernails pressing half-crescents into his skin through his gloves as he considers his answer.  
“Keith,” he finally says, because there's little to gain from hiding. “But I'm not the Black Lion's pilot. Not any more.” 

Lotor purses his lips with a frown.  
“A shame,” he says quietly, and it seems sincere. Keith doesn't have time to mull over his meaning.  
“Then I suppose if you've come all this way in spite of that, I should offer you something in return.”

Without further preamble, the captive Prince divulges all the information the Blades need to take down a crucial arms supply line in the next quadrant over. Keith still doesn’t understand his motives for this sudden amicability, but he listens silently, and doesn't bother to indulge conversation once his questions on the operation are answered.

“Oh, and Keith?” Lotor says, when he turns and walks away. Keith stops on the first step, but doesn't grant him the courtesy of facing him.  
“It wouldn't have worked. Don't be so reckless in future. Maybe I have a soft spot for little lost half things, but it would have been a waste for you to go that way. Let alone for nothing.”

Keith manages to make it halfway up the staircase before he starts shaking.

When he reaches the bridge again, he almost doesn't notice Shiro standing in the middle of the star map. The true Black Paladin shuts down the hologram with a smile and makes his way over to him.  
“Hey. You were gone a while. The others are asleep. How did it go?”

Keith nods tiredly.  
“Far easier than I thought,” he says. “Be careful though, he likes to talk. He'll definitely try to charm his way out of any question he doesn't want to answer.”  
He yawns, taking in the dark circles under Shiro’s eyes, visible even with his skin bathed in the soft green glow of the room around them.  
“You shouldn't have stayed up.”

“I wanted to,” Shiro says easily. With a hesitation that makes Keith mourn everything they've lost in the space between them, Shiro takes his hand gently.  
“Food first. Hunk was pretty set on cooking something to make up for whatever the Blades have been feeding you.”

Keith still feels nauseous, but his stomach growls on cue nevertheless. Shiro laughs softly while Keith presses a hand just under his ribs, blushing.  
“I guess I have missed Hunk’s food a little bit…” he allows.

Shiro leads him into the dining room and piles his plate high. Food goo is blessedly not on the menu it seems, and while it's not exactly a buffet, the variety is appreciated nonetheless. Keith reminds himself that he will need to thank Hunk for going to so much effort after such a draining battle. It's truly touching. His appetite returns with force as he takes his first few bites, and he eats until he feels full and warm. Shiro sits across from him, waiting patiently with his elbow propped on the table and his head resting heavy in his palm. Keith notices a furrow in his brow while he closes his eyes and reaches across the table to touch his hand.

“Hey, is it your arm?” he asks as Shiro's eyes open slowly.

He sits up a little and shakes his head.  
“No it's fine. Hasn't hurt at all since I got back. Just this headache that comes and goes every now and then.”  
Keith feels his insides twist unpleasantly as Shiro gives a tired smile.  
“All done?”

He snaps out of it.  
“Oh. Yeah. I don't think I could manage another bite.”  
He stands and Shiro follows suit to help him clear away the dishes. 

“Your room's just how you left it,” Shiro says quietly as they walk through the halls. When Keith looks up, he's avoiding his gaze shyly.  
“But, also… if you like… I mean, maybe…”

Keith steels himself and attempts to put them both out of their misery.  
“Could I stay with you tonight?”

Shiro lets out a breath of relief.  
“Yeah. Of course. Yes. I'd really… I would like that.”

Keith threads his fingers gingerly through Shiro's and feels him squeeze back, before he tugs him gently down through the Castle corridors to his quarters. They take turns showering, and by the time he emerges from the bathroom with wet hair, Shiro has found him a set of pyjamas. They sit a little too loose on his body, but the fresh, soft material on his skin is a welcome comfort. Shiro curls around him on the mattress, and Keith flinches when cold metal fingers slide under his shirt to brush against his skin. 

“Sorry,” Shiro whispers against his nape. “You're just so warm, I can't help it.”   
Keith gives a half-hearted grumble, but holds him in place.  
“Rest,” he instructs.

Shiro doesn't listen.

“Keith…”

The word is warm against his ear as human fingers slide under his jaw. His palm lays flat against his throat, and Keith twists his head to look at Shiro when he coaxes gently. He's struck by just how vulnerable he is like this, how Shiro could so easily snap his neck or strangle him, or how Galra tech could cut into the soft flesh of his belly. It's a terrifying thought that comes unbidden. Shiro could break him in an instant. He slots his lips against his, and Keith thinks he does. It's rushed and messy and Keith keens into it, desperate for more, despite how little his burnt out body wishes cooperate. Shiro is rough, and he bites a little too hard, invades his space a little too fiercely, and it hurts when he pulls away to suck a dark bruise into the juncture of his neck. It's a far cry from the tenderness they shared before the battle with Zarkon, but Keith welcomes it all the same, feeling starved.

The hand leaves his throat to grab his shoulder and turn him onto his back. Shiro looms over him and it looks like he wants to say something. Maybe an “I miss you” or “Stay” or something more. But Keith watches him push it away to lean down and kiss him again, feeling an arm curl over his head on the pillow. Keith wriggles as Shiro's weight settles over him and it's positively possessive, borderline claustrophobic. Mortality makes him desperate. That much hasn't changed.  
“Baby,” Shiro murmurs when he comes up for air, but the word sounds clumsy on his tongue, as if misuse has reshaped it into something foreign.

Keith takes a moment to let his exhausted mind catch up, stilling any further advance from Shiro with a hand on his cheek.  
“Rest,” he says again.  
He's caught by surprise at the frown that crosses over Shiro’s face, and it carves a small hollow in the centre of his ribs.  
“I want this,” he reassures quickly, “but... I'm just so tired. Please. You need to sleep too.”

Shiro gathers himself and exhales slowly, before relenting and lowering himself down. Keith reaches up to cradle the back of his head to guide him gently into the crook of his neck. There’s a stiff pause, but then arms wrap around his waist tightly to pull him closer. Keith winces and shifts to find comfort, scratching at the base of Shiro’s skull when he presses his nose into his pulse point.

He waits until the breath on his clavicle evens out before he closes his eyes, trying to forget he will be leaving in the morning. When he wakes, Shiro releases him easily, but doesn't come with him to the hangar to say goodbye. The hollow feeling in his chest spreads like disease.

* * *

Matt tries to scold him when he crosses paths with the rebels again, but the effect is diminished by his wobbling bottom lip and teary glare. Between Lotor's voluntary capture and Zarkon’s second coming, the Paladins are yet to hear of his near-sacrifice. Keith wants it to stay that way.

“It’s good to see you in person, Matt,” he says evenly. “Pidge never stopped looking for you.”

Matt grits his teeth, looks like he is going to hit him, then grabs him by his chest plate to tug him forward into a violent embrace. The surrounding Blades that had tensed at the action ease again, and Keith's hands freeze in midair. He and Matt weren't exactly close at the Garrison. By virtue of Shiro, they had spent time around one another on Earth, but not enough time to have done... _this_ before. Keith forces himself to move and return the gesture awkwardly.

“Shiro would have been devastated,” Matt growls at him.

Keith is not so sure. Not anymore. It's a sickening realisation.

“The mission is bigger than one person,” he echoes. It sounds rehearsed, even to him.

“No.” Matt pulls back with firm hands on his shoulders, staring him down. “You just think the mission is bigger than _you_. There's a difference. You have a saviour complex, Keith. And if you're not careful, it's going to kill you.”

His name is called and he looks over Keith's shoulder before regarding him pleadingly again.  
“Just… stay safe, okay? You're important to all of them. Don't make me break Katie's heart.”

Keith lowers his eyes as Matt taps his shoulders and walks away. He has it all wrong. Keith doesn't want to be reckless. He's not looking for the first sword to throw himself on. But this is the fate of the universe. There are far bigger players than him in it. And Shiro will always be number one for him, no matter the fractures that appear between them.

* * *

Keith is reminded of that fact again when he hears the roar of Black above him at the Kral Zera. Shiro delivers Lotor alone, but Keith doesn't have time to unpack what that means. He doesn't even think of how what he's doing is sabotage when he immediately scrambles to disarm the charges, even when Ilun and Vrek abandon him. Shiro's in the blast radius. If the beams go down, it will take him and Black with them. 

Keith can practically hear Kolivan growling in his ear that the mission is more important. He's wrong this time. He’ll just have to accept that when - if - Keith returns to base. He works as fast as he can, but there's no way he can stop all the bombs before they detonate. He needs a Plan B. 

The commotion above him does little to centre his mind. Fear pours adrenaline directly into his veins, and he sprints for the platform above him, begging to whatever cosmic forces there are that what he's done is enough. Maybe if he can dart through the clamour and carnage, he can find Shiro and drag him away from this deathtrap. 

He finds Lotor instead, catching the briefest glimpse of surprise as he careens through him, instinctively shielding him from the blast that chases him. He still doesn't understand, but if Shiro brought him here, there must be a reason. The other Lions can't be far, he decides. Faith in Shiro's plans has always been an easy thing. 

The Galra ships begin firing on Black, and Keith's heart leaps into his mouth. He can't just watch though. Now that he has exposed himself from the shadows, he is deep in hostile enemy territory. All hell breaks loose. The ships and the warriors below turn on each other and Sendak separates him from Lotor again. He dispatches an enemy of his own, with some unlikely help from one of Haggar’s more familiar minions, but doesn't feel his senses return until a wormhole opens and Voltron forms in the sky above him. 

After it's all said and done, and Lotor holds the flame aloft, Keith stares up at Voltron for any sign that he sees him. He stays back when the others disband and Black lingers for Lotor, but when the Lion’s mouth opens, Shiro is standing there, looking past the new Emperor to smile at him.

“You look like you might need a ride,” he calls out.

Keith feels the corners of his lips pull up, along with the exhaustion that crashes through him at the relief of seeing him unharmed.  
“I was always taught that hitchhiking was dangerous,” he jabs, even as he walks to the ramp. “Who knows what your intentions could be with me?” 

“I promise to keep my eyes on the road,” Shiro says in all mock-seriousness when he draws level with him.

“How terribly disappointing.”

Shiro only laughs as the Lion’s jaw closes. Keith feels Black’s consciousness wrap him up immediately as he steps through, projecting such warmth and deep affection directly into his mind that Keith almost stumbles. He's imbued with the overwhelming sense that he's been missed by the Lion, and it compels him to press a hand to the wall beside him. For the first time in forever, he feels... safe. Needed. Protected.

_I've missed you too buddy. I want to come back..._

Shiro drops a hand on his shoulder and the energy around him dissipates, leaving him cold.  
“Come on, I'll drop you off at the Blades’ base. I'm sure the others won't mind the detour.”

Keith swallows back bitter disappointment. Because if he only asked, he would stay. He would have, once. At least, Keith thinks so. He's reminded again that something has changed since finding him in that tiny Galra fighter ship. His time away has molded him into something different. Keith still can't figure out what it is.

It's the last time he comes close to him in years.

* * *

Predictably, Kolivan is quietly furious. Keith tries to endure when he tells him his emotions get in the way of his mission. But then he surprises him by assigning him a solo weapon retrieval mission with an additional goal to extract a spy. Krolia. He hasn't heard the name before. Whatever she's been doing for the Blade, it's clearly deep cover. Kolivan still has faith in him if he's assigning him to the mission. He won't let him down.

The journey there is hazardous. Commanders Trugg and Ladnok are already engaged in full scale warfare when he arrives in the stealth fighter. Whatever this mystery weapon is, it's apparently worth dying for. He attempts to blend in with the debris, and it almost works… until something rogue clips his wing and sends him hurtling toward the planet's surface. He fights with the controls, desperate, panicking that this might finally be the moment he doesn't cheat death. It would be a horrible way to go, in fire and fuel and crushed metal. And for no good reason at all. How long would it take for anyone to realise he is gone? Would anyone notice at all? His subconscious screams unhelpfully that he doesn't want to die, and he tries to channel his fear into action. The ship comes down heavily, but Keith wrangles it just enough so it doesn't break up entirely and dash him on the rocky ground. He needs a few moments to recover, but he can't afford it. The controls around him are ablaze and there's no telling whether the craft might explode entirely. He wrenches at the obstructions around him and scrambles free. He's no safer out in the open though. Debris rains around him and explosions litter the landscape. The civil war raging beyond the planet’s atmosphere is just as dangerous down below. Once he reaches a vantage point to look upon the target base, Keith lingers only long enough to determine his path into the facility undetected.

He sticks to the shadows once he's inside, getting eyes on the sentries. He's cautious and soft-footed, conscious of the fact that he's very much on his own until he finds Kolivan’s operative. Shiro's mantra of patience plays over his mind, but apparently it's not enough. He only has a split second to whip around with his blade drawn and finds himself face to face with a loaded plasma pistol. There’s a beat of deadly tension as he and his opponent stand with readied weapons, but then Keith has a moment of recognition as his mind supplies Kolivan’s files.

“Krolia,” he says quietly.  
He misses the way she glances to the blade at her neck. 

“You're late,” she admonishes simply.

Keith prickles but bites his tongue. He won't prove Kolivan right by letting his emotions rule him. He follows her down to a control room and finds she has as many questions as him. Keith tries to roll with it, but knowing that the Blades are shooting blind with this mission on both sides leaves him uneasy. They have little time to set communication straight when a blast rocks through the base to announce Trugg’s arrival on the surface. They race through the facility to retrieve the weapon, but Krolia doesn't get as far relaying the codes to open the doors before they come under attack.

Keith leaps forward to protect his mission. Without Krolia, there is no weapon. It's a clinical, emotionless decision. He cuts down the sentry fodder before they can fire. He applies everything he’s learned to neutralise as many enemies as he can and to keep their attention on him. But he is only one when they are many. His blade jams in the metal chest of one of the robots, and the split second mistake costs him everything. The sentry displaces him and sends him flying across the room to land heavily, cracking his head on the ground on his second bounce. Stars burst across his vision and a high pitched ring shoots distortion between his ears. He ignores the sabotage to his senses to scramble to his feet when he hears plasma sing across the room, but a heavily booted foot stomps down on the small of his back to pin him, smashing his cheek against the floor. His surroundings blink out of existence for a moment as he faintly registers his hands being tied, then he feels himself pulled up onto his knees by the scruff of his hood. Trugg wants to play executioner. Keith sets his jaw with the realisation. Krolia stands across the room, outnumbered, but with a clear route of escape. Keith has broken protocol enough to know it back and front. His life is forfeit.

But then Krolia does something he doesn't expect. She surrenders. He sees his blade then, shrinking back into a dagger in her hand. He doesn't understand. How is she wielding it? Why is she entertaining the thought of deals with the enemy when the mission could still be salvaged? After the lecture he received from Kolivan, it spikes hot, desperate rage in his blood.

“What are you doing?”

The pained expression that crosses Krolia’s face makes Keith wonder how hard he hit his head.

“I left you once,” she says, eyes soft on him. “I'll never leave you again.”

Her gaze raises to Trugg and goes cold as she demands a ship in exchange for the codes to the weapon. It's a blur to Keith and he can't quite comprehend how she secures their safety, but all he knows is it still feels like they lose. She hauls him to a ship and his sense comes back to him in bits and pieces. His brain is still rattling in his skull by the time she starts the fighter’s launch sequence, and the haze only compounds his fury.

“I still can't believe you'd just give them the weapon to save me.”  
It goes against everything he knows about the way the Blades operate. A veteran should know better. He'll be damned if he takes the blame when Kolivan finds out.  
“You compromised the mission.”

“Keith, shut up and trust me.”

Keith has the weirdest sense of deja vu. He's barely hears the tense exchange between Krolia and Trugg, taking mental stock of everything that has happened since they first crossed paths. Krolia starts relaying the code and Keith grits his teeth, rushing to the pilot seat. He's not a fool. He knows the second those doors open, it will be open season. Krolia shouts at him anyway, but he refrains from snapping, focusing getting them off the ground and as far away as possible. He puts everything into avoiding the fire that chases them, feeling his anger bubble as one laser comes far too close to their wing. He snaps at Krolia again to channel his tension away from where he holds the controls, but she calmly blows off his concerns about the weapon they have left behind. She doesn't explain further and Keith decides it's not worth pursuing. What's done is done and there's little to change it now. He loosens his grip on the controls once the cannons cease firing and they are out of range of the warships. Krolia might not want to be forthcoming on her motivations, but Keith won't let that slide. He’s suspicious of her loyalties and won't be taken by surprise just because she seemingly chose to save his life mere moments after meeting him. He sets the autopilot and pushes his seat back, questions swirling through his head. Krolia beats him to the punch by handing his blade back.

“How were you able to use it?”

It's a question he's been holding to since he saw her lift it in surrender. It doesn't make sense. The blade is his, and his fundamental understanding is that it should listen to only him, just as the weapons of the other Blades respond only to their owner. Keith feels a sick moment of panic. Maybe the Luxite is rejecting him, finding a new owner in someone more worthy. Is that something it can do? Krolia gives him that same look from before, and Keith wonders wildly if it's pity. For a little Earthling who couldn't even complete his first solo mission without spectacular failure. For a Blade that doesn't belong in their ranks. Krolia seems to steel herself for her blow.

“Because it used to be mine, before I gave it to your father.”

And it hits Keith with the force of solar flare. Because he hadn't entertained the thought for a single moment. Something so incredibly impossible that he had written off from before his father had died. A whole universe, and less than zero chance, not worth the energy of hope. But the answer is clear, laid out delicately in front of him with quiet expectation. His heartbeat thunders in his ears.

“You're my Mom?”  
The word is so foreign in his mouth that it feels like something has clamped down on his tongue.  
“How?”

Questions flood past his lips and he can't stop them, even under the weight of the sorrow in Krolia’s eyes. She tells him they'll talk about it later and to Keith, that feels an awful lot like the door is being closed on him again after seeing it open just the tiniest fraction. He grits his teeth, but lets go. Even long lost family is not more important than the Blades. He gets it. Or at least, he's not surprised. She's one of them after all. More than him.

Keith shuts out the lost boy begging for more than this and narrows his focus to Krolia’s explanation of the enriched quintessence she and Ranveig had discovered adrift in space. Based on her findings, their next move is clear.

They set a course for the Quantum Abyss.

* * *

Keith wonders if he's destined to destroy every ship he pilots from now on. It's a sudden, recurring theme, and a blow to his ego if he's being honest with himself. He knows it's not really his fault - managing to stay alive in the face of chaotic warfare and hostile teleporting abyss predators is an achievement in and of itself - but he’s supposed to be an ace pilot. He sure as hell doesn't feel like one now, jumping between asteroids in the orbit of a dead star.

An explosion from the centre of the abyss almost shakes them both loose from the space rock, and an unsettling wave of light hurtles toward them. Keith braces, but something warm and strong wraps around him. When he opens his eyes, it's to endless nothingness and he panics, calling out to the light. The cry of an infant answers him, and several figures materialise to his right. It's his father and Krolia and… him. Bundled small and secure in the same arms that had just shielded him only a moment before. Keith stares in awe. He wonders faintly if he is dead, but more so he is simply arrested by the sight before him. Of family. _His_ family.

The blinding white light gives way to darkness then, and a familiar voice, twisted into something unfamiliarly cruel speaks behind him.

“Hello Keith.”

He spins immediately, looking into soulless lilac eyes that seem lit from within and a twisted expression that has no place on the face of the man he loves. His own voice echoes to him, layered with pleas and assurances, and the other voice he knows so well crashes over it with venom and anger. Keith has never been more petrified in his life. He feels the hot sting of his flesh being cleaved apart where he stands frozen to the spot. The vision spits him out and Keith almost throws up when Krolia bursts into view in front of him, his chest heaving.

“What was that?” he panics, voice cracking across the sound. “Were those visions real?”

It's only a flash but Keith knows it will haunt him forever. He needs Krolia to tell him it's a trick of the Abyss. Something that plays on his greatest hopes and deepest fears and amplifies them to him in spectacular force. But she tells him it's a symptom of the time distortion around them. One that offers glimpses into his past… and his future. Keith's first reaction is to reject it. What he saw wasn't real. It can't be. That can't be his end.

It happens again. He's knocked off course mid-leap by an unseen asteroid when the explosion comes, and he can feel himself being stretched thin by unimaginable force as he’s sucked in by the gravity wells. He barely manages to throw his blade as a grappling hook and Krolia hauls him up just in time for them to both bear the force of a second wave of light. It’s a direct hit and the vision lasts far longer this time, showing Keith Krolia’s journey to Earth, her betrayal of her crew and her rescue at the hands of his father on the surface below. When it blinks out and Krolia pulls him back to safety, Keith realises that their visions are shared. He doesn't have time to press for details before the next wave hits and he's thrust back into Krolia’s past again. It's more than he could have ever hoped to learn.

“You were stuck on Earth,” he realises, when reality returns.

“There was no better place I could be,” Krolia tells him, achingly sincere.

They continue their journey on foot, and Keith despairs at how far they've come, and how much further they need to go. They'll die out here, he realises. But in a rare moment of kindness, the universe responds in the form of two gargantuan creatures that might just be their ticket to freedom. The Abyss flashes once last time before they can move to show him how Krolia vanished from his life, and he feels a turmoil that has been bubbling in his soul as long as he can remember settle to a simmer. It's bittersweet.

“I finally understand why you left.”  
He laces his tone with acceptance, to make sure she knows he knows it was the right decision.  
“You put the mission above all else.”

He's surprised by the sorrow that flashes beneath her helmet.  
“That's not true,” she counters. “I left to protect the person I most love.”

It makes him freeze when he realises she means him. He's only ever heard one other person tell him they love him, once. He supposes that his father might have said the words to him, before he left him too, but it's not something he remembers. Until now, he had believed wholeheartedly that Shiro was the first person to truly love him. But perhaps he has been gravely mistaken all this time. He doesn't have the capacity to process such a thought right now, and mercifully he's saved a response by another one of the whale-like creatures as it floats past. It's their best shot, their only shot maybe, to make it to the centre of the Abyss.

Keith is heaving from exertion by the time they reach its back. There's earth under his hand where he kneels and when he looks up, and he realises it's not just one creature - it's an entire ecosystem, swimming through the vacuum of space. Krolia doesn't stop in spite of their exhaustion, so Keith supposed they are alike that way. With caution, they continue on. The terrain changes around them the further they go and Keith can barely contain his wonder. He removes his hood and mask when he feels a breeze and finds there's breathable air. It's so wonderfully impossible, and changes his perception of the universe all over again.

They stop short when a comet flies overhead to crash on the slopes in front of them. The explosion takes Keith by surprise but he feels compelled to investigate. Krolia is wary, but she doesn't try to convince him otherwise when he says, “Come on,” and continues toward the crash site. This world has more earthly and unearthly delights to show, because what he finds at the centre of the impact crater is not flaming rock, but a small iridescent creature that resembles a wolf, cowering from enemies that surround it menacingly. It looks up to Keith with golden eyes, and he sees the plea there. He springs into action automatically, cutting down its would-be attackers with prejudice. When the area is finally clear, Keith turns wildly to find the pup again, and freezes as it backs into the wall of its crater, whimpering. It must be terrified, and is likely injured. Keith returns his blade back to its dagger form to sheath it, dropping to a knee and holding out a hand.

“Hey there little guy,” he says softly, controlling his laboured breathing so he won't scare the tiny thing any more. “It's okay. You're safe now.”

It stays put, trembling, until Krolia sighs behind him.

“Keith,” she says, as if trying to break bad news gently, “we should go.”

“Not yet,” he insists quietly, not looking away.

It's painfully slow, but Keith has learned patience from the best. He watches the wolf take a couple of ginger steps forward and another back, seemingly waiting for some trap to spring forward. Keith remains still, and coos softly to the little creature when it pauses. The muscles in his thighs are screaming by the time it comes close enough to sniff at his hand, but he doesn't dare move until a pink tongue darts out to lick at his fingertips. Ever so carefully, he stretches to rub at its ear. It startles for a moment, and Keith prepares to retract, but then it bunts its head into his palm for more. Keith feels the smile crack across his face and a warmth he hasn't felt in forever flare in his chest.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Not so scary, right?”

The wolf responds by slowly padding a little closer, enough so it can place a paw on Keith’s thigh. It's a curious thing up close, with distinctive green markings and fur that seems almost luminescent on its back. Its eyes look molten as it stretches up to sniff his face and Keith blinks, watching in quiet awe. Then it whimpers again and lowers itself down onto his knee, staying put when he places a hand on its head. It makes a funny yelp as he slides a hand under its body and lifts, scrambling with sudden panic, but when Keith holds it secure to his chest and shushes gently, it calms again.

“That's right. I won't ever hurt you, I promise. It's going to be alright.”

He isn't sure if the words are for the pup or someone else as his heart twists and his voice goes thick in his throat.

Keith celebrates little successes from there, hope sputtering against his ribs again. First when they salvage edible flesh from the creatures they had downed, then when Krolia finds a place to shelter and he manages to light a fire without provisions, and finally when the wolf eats out of the palm of his hand. It wanders around the makeshift campsite, but never out of sight, and seems most at ease when close to him. Keith feels such a rush of affection as it bounds back to him when a noise in the brush spooks it, and he knows it's obvious that he's already attached.

“You should get some sleep,” Krolia says from where she stokes the fire. “I'll keep first watch.”

Keith pauses. He wants to argue, but if he's honest, he can't remember a time when he felt more exhausted. Far too many vargas have passed since he last slept - it could easily be days - and his waking moments have been loaded with physical and mental toil. When he last woke up, he had been an orphan, with just another mission. Now… well.

“It's not up for discussion,” Krolia says, and it makes Keith feel like a child in such a way that it almost topples him. He swallows and nods.

“Okay. Just for a few vargas…”

When he wakes, with a warm, furry body curled by his side, it is deep into the daytime. Krolia holds herself strangely over by the still-smouldering embers of the fire, and there's a red tinge to her eyes when her gaze snaps to him.

“How long were you alone?” she asks, and her voice is cracked and vulnerable in a way feels fundamentally wrong.

He thinks of the funeral, nine years old and standing at his father's grave alone. No family, and only a priest to drop him at the doorstep of the home. Maybe it wasn't just a dream.

 _Six years_ , he thinks, because then Shiro walked into his life and changed it all. He rises to his feet and walks over to her, hesitating a moment before placing an awkward hand on her shoulder. He doesn't miss the way her eyes widen at the touch.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he says, echoing her words from before. “Rest first.”

* * *

There's still a ghost of grief in Krolia’s eyes when she wakes. An earnest part of Keith wants to change that.

“Hey, watch this.”  
He displaces the wolf from his lap to stand up, holding his hands in front of him.  
“Stay, boy,” he cautions to him, backing away.  
The pup tilts his head in question, fidgeting on the spot. When Keith stops, he claps his hands and opens his arms with a grin.  
“Okay, c’mere!”  
The wolf perks up immediately, wagging his tail, before disappearing in a flash of white light to reappear in Keith’s arms. It's just as bewildering to see him teleporting, even vargas after the initial discovery. He laughs as he licks his cheek.

“Getting along, I see,” Krolia says, and Keith feels a quiet wave of triumph to see her smiling.  
“Are you going to give him a name?”

“I thought of a few,” he admits, sinking his fingers into the fur on his head in an attempt to settle his wriggling. His first instinct had been to name him Takashi. He flushes at the thought and Krolia eyes him curiously. It would be far too embarrassing, and Keith’s not entirely sure Shiro would be on board whenever he eventually found out.  
“I thought about naming him after Pop,” he admits, and he sees Krolia flinch, “but Heath isn't really a good dog's name,” he finishes lamely. He's not particularly keen on explaining the similarities between their names to anyone that asks either.

“Yorak?” Krolia suggests, and Keith huffs in quiet amusement.

“The name you wanted to give me?”

“It was my grandfather's. Your great-grandfather.”

It's the tiniest bit of information, but Keith latches onto it. It makes the idea that he has a family out here a little more real.

“Let's keep away from real names, perhaps.”

Krolia makes a thoughtful sound, before falling silent. Keith holds the pup up in front of him, assessing for a moment.

“We're all made up of the same cosmic dust,” he murmurs quietly, and it feels like an age since he first said those words.

“Kosmo. That's your name.”

* * *

Later comes, and Krolia makes good on her promise. She fills in the spaces between their new shared memories of her time on Earth and her return to the Blades. It's so much more than Keith could have ever hoped for, even before he learned to hope for nothing. He wants to stay guarded, but there are already cracks and fissures in his well maintained walls after so little time together. Keith gives her the answers she wants too.

“It was a fire,” he says, watching Kosmo from the rock he leans again to spare himself from Krolia's reaction.  
“I don't remember the details, but that's what they told me. They told him not to go back in, but that was Pop for you, I guess. He couldn't turn away from someone in need. I was furious with him for ages. For a really long time, I thought it meant he hadn't bothered to think about how much _I_ needed him. But… that's not right. He was a hero.”  
He pauses a moment, because unexpectedly he feels the burn of buried emotions rise in his throat. Krolia stays silent and Keith appreciates it more than she could possibly know.  
“I'm not even sure I said goodb—" his voice cracks and he clears his throat, frustrated, “goodbye that morning. I probably was in such a rush to get to school that I didn't bother. I remember being late that day and being angry about it. I have no idea what my last words were to him though. Or what he said to me.”  
He gives a hollow laugh, but it comes out more like a sob and he follows it with a sniff.  
“Isn't that terrible?” he says, dragging his forearm under his nose. Krolia takes a step toward him, but his spine stiffens automatically and she stops short. They're not there. Not yet. He drops his hand onto his lap and forces himself to relax his posture, taking a moment to make sure his voice is steady when he next speaks.  
“I don't remember much of him, actually. I can see his face and hear his voice, but pinning down specific memories… I couldn't tell you stories about him. Not meaningful ones. Isn't that what a son is meant to do? Carry on their parents’ legacy? I don't even know what that is.”

“You were a child,” Krolia says, quiet but firm.  
“And by protecting Voltron you _are_ carrying on his legacy. And mine too. I never could have dreamt of the day that you would pilot that lion into space.”

“I wasn't the one piloting it.”

It’s a blunt response, he realises. Keith lets the silence settle uncomfortably for a moment, but he can't bear it too long, and the words spill out to desperately fill the void.

“I used to pilot the Red Lion. And Black. Kind of. More like, borrowed it. Just while…” He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “That's over now though. I think. I don't know. It's… complicated.”

Krolia doesn't press him to explain further.  
“And now the Blades?”

Keith nods, looking up to her.  
“Now the Blades.”

* * *

After a week, Keith starts marking the days that pass in the rock wall of their shelter. There’s already a comfortable routine that has settled between the two of them. Keith supposes living each other's memories several times a day fosters an openness that nudges their relationship into something warm and honest at a fast pace. Keith finds himself trusting her more and more every day 

She learns Shiro's name first, but the rest come in the days that follow. He comes to know his grandparents’ faces, and sees the planet she grew up on. But he's alone with Kosmo, gathering firewood, when his future flashes to him for a second time.

“Hello Keith.”

It terrifies him as much as the first, but he turns quicker this time, raising his shield to meet the initial blow. He crashes backward into something solid, smooth and cold, like glass, and it steals the breath from his lungs, unexpected. There's a flash of teeth, then Shiro cuts him down again.

Kosmo is whimpering when he comes to on his hands and knees, gasping air that feels like fire in his lungs. That's not _his_ Shiro, is his knee jerk reaction. But he banishes the thought immediately. It's not true. He will always belong wholeheartedly to any version of Shiro, no matter what. Even if he doesn't want him any more. Even if he...

A wet nose nudges at his cheek and Keith turns his head, forcing a weak smile.  
“Sorry boy. I'm fine. I think. We should keep going…”

* * *

Months pass before his last secret is uncovered. If he wasn't measuring it in the gouges in the walls, he would be able to tell in the way Kosmo has grown. He has grown too, Krolia tells him, soft and fond. He doesn't see it, but he supposes his uniform sits a little more snug, his hair has grown longer and his shoes are a little on the wrong side of comfortable. They're sitting around the fire, eating in easy silence when they both look up at the boom in the space way above them. It's such a regular part of their life now that neither of them flinch when the light hits. But it's a new memory. One of Keith’s. One that he has been desperately holding to his chest for an age now. He's bathed in soft white glow, and Shiro’s quarters slowly swim into view. It's strange seeing it at this angle, an observer as Shiro leans over another him on the bed and traces the features of his face. He can see his own eyes fluttering close, and a smile he doesn't recognise, soft and content, on his lips. Shiro pauses, and the look is so painfully reverent that Keith - the him that watches from afar - gasps softly.

_“I love you.”_

It still cuts him down to his core.

_“More than everything in the universe.”_

It fades away, and his eyes sting as he finds himself staring into the fire again. He reaches up hastily to wipe away the threat of tears, conscious of the shift beside him.

“So…”

Keith feels himself flush, suddenly very aware that Krolia would have had the same vision. His shoulders go stiff, and he braces for the worst.

“I can't say I'm surprised,” she finally says. Keith’s head whips to the side to look at her with bewilderment. She's smiling, and Keith feels a lump form in his throat.  
“Your bond is very apparent from what I've seen. He’s been an important part of your life. It’s obvious you are both quite devoted to one another.”  
She reaches across the space between them, and Keith only realises he's still crying when she brushes gently at his cheek. It's the first time either of them have dared anything that resembles proper physical affection.  
“I hope I'll get to meet him one day.”

It knocks out the last few chips of his walls.

“Mom…”

Krolia's eyes go wide, but then she pulls him in gently. Keith doesn't fight the motion, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. Hot tears soak his lashes as he squeezes his eyes shut tight, but it's oddly calm. He doesn't shake, doesn't sob.

“I miss him so much. We've been here so long already.”  
Tainted eyes and gnashing teeth flash through his mind. Krolia holds him a little tighter.  
“I'm scared of what’s happening while we're stuck here.”

“I told you,” Krolia reminds quietly. “Time is different here. I'm sure when we reach the end of our journey, it will be like no time has passed for them at all.”

That terrifies Keith in a different way entirely. He feels the weight of Kosmo’s head settle in his lap and he places a hand atop it. He feels surrounded, but it's not suffocating. His heart calms. Despite his fears, he feels strong enough to face what will come. And he realises it's because he is loved. It's different to the love Shiro gives him, but it's just as strong and tangible, and right here in his grasp.

“It will be okay, Keith.”

He believes her.

* * *

One year turns into two. Kosmo still stares at him like he's grown another head when he tries to teach him to fetch. Still sleeps by his side at night. Still teleports into his arms when he spies him at a distance. The latter is rather problematic now given the wolf comes up as high as his ribs, and he has been sent sprawling into the dirt more times than he can count. But for all the bruises and scuffs, Keith is grateful that of out of all the places in the Universe, that comet landed in front of him the day he stepped foot on the whale. He can't imagine life without him.

Krolia remarks how much he has grown and he can see it now too. His armour sits tight around his chest, he stands a little taller, and there's more muscle to him than before. Despite Krolia's often butchered attempts to keep it tidy, his hair almost brushes at his collarbone at the longest parts, and when he washes in the stream, a more angular face looks back at him in the reflection of the water's surface. He's stronger too. Stronger than Krolia, even. Keeping their skills sharp had been a mutually agreed decision from early on. It's been months since she's been able to pin him, and it's certainly not from any misplaced maternal love. She's a bad loser, like him, but when the sting wears off, Keith can always tell she's proud of him and how far he's come.

He feels like he has shared every moment of his life with Krolia by now, and he has long surrendered to being cracked open and put on raw display by the time distortion that surrounds them. But his future seems to be for his eyes only. While the underlying terror is still there, time has tempered it into a beast Keith can see with the benefit of something akin to acceptance. Not of his ultimate fate, but of times and trials that may await him.

That's the thing about seeing into the future though. It influences the moments that will come to pass. Warps and distorts events with new knowledge that changes future decisions and outcomes. The vision returns again and again and again, and he fights a little longer each time, gets a little further. It still ends the same way though, with feral eyes and pain and darkness. Keith learns to process it a little more clinically with every flash the Quantum Abyss affords him. He files away the new additions, assesses and waits for what it will show him next.

When they reach the end of their journey, the Abyss offers him one last moment of time. It's not of the terror to come, but it's not a memory either, and he sits in his own body rather than as an observer. He recognises the ceiling above him. It's his shack, back on Earth.

“It was just a nightmare,” a sweet, familiar voice says beside him, as fingers tangle in his hair.

Keith turns his head, but it's too dark to make out his features in the middle of the night. He knows it’s him all the same and he clutches desperately.  
“Shiro?...”

Soft lips press to his.

“I'm right here, baby. Everything is okay. We’re here because of you, do you remember?”

He doesn't. He has no idea what he means. He wants to ask, but it's as if his voice won't work on his command. He feels human fingers curl into his, but there's a curious press of metal in the space between his third and fourth fingers.

“Try to sleep, my love,” he whispers close to him, and Keith feels himself pulled under.

Keith blinks as the Abyss returns and he glances to Krolia on his left, but it seems she has seen nothing at all.

“Follow my lead,” she says.

* * *

Romelle is a curious one. It's easy write her off as timid and meek at first glance, but her appearance hides a ferocity, a deep internal strength that Keith can't help but admire. He can tell that being brave isn't something that comes naturally to her, but she is all the same. Courage, he thinks as he listens to her story. She has the courage of a lion.

Dread eats at his insides like poison, and the confirmation when they reach the quintessence facility almost makes him ill. What Lotor has done is unforgivable in the most complex of ways. Gathering the Alteans that remain scattered through the universe might have saved their lives, or at the very least saved them from a lifetime of running in fear. But he's playing god, picking and choosing those to sacrifice for his own personal crusade, while the people who worship him are none the wiser. He's dangerous. So dangerous. A master of smoke and mirrors. And right now he is lodged firmly at the heart of Voltron, with the might of an Empire behind him.

“Come with us,” he tells Romelle, and she doesn't hesitate. He helps her into the Altean ship while Krolia runs some quick diagnostics at the control panel.

“Should be good to go,” Krolia says when he walks to the pilot's chair. “We’ll be going a little further than an orbiting moon this time. Do you think you can handle this ship back out of the Abyss?”

Keith knows he looks a little cocky when he replies.  
“I can fly anything. Two years hasn't changed that.”

* * *

His pulse stutters when the Castle Ship appears before him. It makes him realise again just how long it's been for him. Then a voice comes through his comms line, and his heart leaps into his mouth.

“Attention! Altean pod, identify yourself.”

Keith gives himself a fraction of a moment to compose himself before he switches on his visual feed. He sees the others, but his focus is singular.

“Shiro, it's Keith.”

Shiro’s expression changes before him, the hardness in his eyes vanishing immediately. He stammers, and Keith feels a rush of affection. God, he has missed him so much. The others jump in before he can respond with their own questions, and with reluctance (less so for Lance), Keith has to brush them off. There are more pressing issues.

“Where's Lotor?”

He feels lead weight of his dread sink into his gut when Hunk tells him he's in the quintessence field. He hopes it isn't too late.

Stepping off the ship and onto the hangar feels surreal. At a glance, he can tell Krolia is right. The others haven't changed at all. It can only be a matter of weeks since Lotor’s coronation for them.

“Keith… it's so good to see you.”

It's like Shiro sees him in a whole new light and, involuntarily, Keith preens under it. But then Lance ruins it by getting in his face with stupid questions. Keith wonders if maybe it’s just the fact that he is the first person to notice how he's changed that annoys him the most. He tells him they don't have time, and predictably he responds with sarcasm that grates as much as ever. So nope, it's just Lance. _That_ hasn't changed at all.  

He sees Coran’s eyes widen with disbelief when Romelle disembarks with Kosmo and Krolia, and Keith feels guilty for a moment. In an ideal world, this would have been a gentle introduction, one where Allura and Coran were both quietly sat down and told about the survival of their people in a environment of hope and happiness. Instead, it's an arrival of fire with Romelle ready to deliver harsh news of the horrors she's faced. It quickly gets out of hand when the group starts firing questions in their confusion before he can explain anything. He can feel himself getting frustrated, but Shiro steps in to diffuse the situation. Keith’s heart follows suit when he stutters over his name.

“When they return, we'll get this sorted out.”

Keith doesn't want to wait, but he supposes they have no other choice. He sets his teeth in resignation. But then Shiro smiles shyly to him and he eases.

 _This is the man who is going to kill you_ , a traitorous voice whispers to him.

 _No_ , Keith thinks immediately. _This is the man I'm going to fight for_.

“Lance is right,” Shiro says, and it's filled with a soft awe that makes Keith smile too. “You have changed.”

“Time is different where I've been,” he starts to tell him.

Krolia, as to the point as ever, steps forward to single Shiro out and introduce herself to him. He fights his pulse to ensure he doesn't blush when she makes it far too clear that he has told her everything about him, and quickly clarifies the situation, introducing her first as a fellow Blade, then as his mother.

Shiro is clearly shocked, but then he smiles and speaks with all the sincerity in the universe.  
“It is an honour to meet you.”

Keith wants to hit Lance when he steps in and ruins the moment again. Shiro looks just as miffed, but the questions the team raises about his companions and their concerns about Lotor need to be addressed. He introduces Romelle to them, and lets her tell her story, of Lotor as a saviour, of how he selected Alteans for his supposed promised land, and how she had lost her mother, her father and her brother to Lotor's twisted ploys for pure quintessence.

The team is horrified. It's written clear as day on their faces. Keith understands their anger at being deceived, because he has had time to process his own. Their time is cut short though when the Castle Ship’s radar picks up Lotor's ship. Emotions are already running high. Romelle wants to blast the ship into nothingness, but Coran and Lance protest Allura’s safety. No one is happy Lotor will have to come aboard, but level heads prevail, in no small part to Shiro’s calm leadership.

They wait for the doors to open, and he and Krolia quickly step behind them to surround Lotor, weapons drawn. Allura is understandably confused, but when she steps between the Emperor and Lance’s rifle, Keith suddenly realises he may have underestimated the hold Lotor has on her. Romelle is still charged with her grief, and spits venom at the man who destroyed her family and took advantage of her people. Her presence is enough to rattle Allura and erode her faith. Keith watches her look desperately to Lotor, but sweet words are not enough and when he reaches out to touch, she sends him sprawling to the ground.

The victory is short-lived though. Somehow, Haggar has breached their hangar, and Shiro falls to his knees, clutching his head. Keith's nerves set on edge, but Lance takes on his mantle of second-in-command and instructs him to deal with the threat while they handle Lotor and Shiro. Leaving him is the last thing Keith wants to do, but he has to protect him, so he leads the charge.

It all goes wrong, in more ways than he could have possibly imagined. Haggar’s minions escape with the ships. They lose Lotor.

Worse still, they lose Shiro.

When he climbs into Black, the Lion hums an odd combination of joy and confusion around him.

“Still me,” he promises as he runs into the cockpit. “Please. We need to save Shiro.”

When he sits in the pilot seat, Black comes to life with a roar.  
He's down a thruster, already tired and battered, but he's bolstered by his resolve when he follows Shiro into the wormhole alone. He simply doesn't care about Lotor or his ships, so when Shiro flies away from the fleet alone, Keith follows him without question.

“I know you're hurting.”  
He’s hit with a sense of deja vu. He's said these words before.  
“We just need to keep it together a little longer…”

Realisation doesn't strike him like a blow. It washes over him, quiet and calm. He _has_ heard these words before, in the Quantum Abyss.

_So this is it._

Black is uneasy around him, but he doesn't fight his control. Working on half-power, they fall behind though, and Shiro dips out of communication range. Keith ensures he stays in sight.

“I'm going to save him,” he tells Black, knuckles tight on the controls. “Shiro is the most important thing in the universe. I won't leave without him, I promise.”

Warmth spreads from the tips of his fingers and envelopes him gently as Black conveys his affirmation. It calms him for what is to come. They land on the abandoned planet where Shiro’s pod rests and he bids Black a soft farewell as he disembarks. There has been no attempt to cover his tracks, and Keith thinks that Shiro, whether consciously or not, has led him here with purpose. He follows the footsteps in the dirt through the cave to a lift where he loses the trail. The only way is up, and it feels endless, until the doors open and he steps out into an open air facility, far above the planet's surface. His eyes grow wide. This part… This part he doesn't know.

He walks to the end of the platform, touching one of the pods in the very centre. It flickers to life and the sight within steals everything from him. Sitting in stasis, perfectly whole and unblemished, is Shiro. His hair all black, no scar across his face and his right arm all flesh and bone. The pods adjacent come to life too, and they're just the same: endless replications of Shiro, just as he was when he first left Earth.

Keith can't breathe. It's nothing he could have ever anticipated, and his mind unhelpfully asks how long it's been since he last saw Shiro. The real Shiro. Is he even here?

A voice he remembers, one that is off-pitch and too harsh, speaks to him the same words he's heard a hundred times in the Abyss.

“Hello Keith.”

He whips around. Indigo eyes bore into him from across the platform and words of reassurance leave Keith's lips before he even realises he has formed them.  
“Shiro, it's going to be okay.”  
The set of his shoulders is menacing as he starts walking toward him. Keith doesn't run.  
“We just have to get back to the Castle.”

Shiro's jaw goes tight.  
“We are not going anywhere!”

Keith barely remembers to trigger his shield when he launches himself at him, arm energising. The blow still sends him flying into the pod behind him and almost stuns him. He relies on his memory to dodge to his left as Shiro's fist slams through the glass. His heart hammers. Without the Abyss, he would have been dead already. Twice over. And they've barely begun.

He brings up his sword just in time to glance the blows that follow, but Shiro still manages to send him careening over the edge of the platform. The memory of a third death, splattered on the level below, has him desperately activating his jetpack to cushion the blow, then leaping out of the way as Shiro follows him fist first.

He unsheathes his knife again, the Luxite responding and transforming it into his sword. Shiro stares him down and responds in kind, a sickly purple plasma blade extending from the back of his hand. He launches his strike again. Every blow has Keith on the defensive, and he can't dedicate time to figure out whether that's because Shiro has the upper hand, or if he's holding back. He knows he doesn't want to hurt him, but he's struggling, coming off second best in this fight when he has the advantage of foresight on his side. Keith realises with sick horror that Shiro has never really fought with all his strength before, against him or the enemies of Voltron, whether consciously or not. This is the strength of the Champion, an undefeated Arena fighter who had to learn to set aside his humanity just to survive. Only now, something else has set it aside for him.

Keith only just remembers to turn his head ever so slightly when Shiro locks his arm and strikes at his helmet. The blow catches his jaw, rattling his teeth and sending his helmet flying, but it doesn't break his neck. He avoids death number eighteen... or is it nineteen now? He's lost count at this point. The ringing in his ears isn't helping. He can taste blood. There’s no time to succumb to the inevitable concussion though. He breaks Shiro’s hold and ducks under the sweep of his bladed arm, running down the walkway and dodging a dozen more fatal blows as plasma sings and carves through the spaces behind him and he tries to leap clear. A growl alerts him to brace and Shiro slams into him, sabotaging his trajectory. He sees the cable in front of him though, like he's seen so many times before, and he reaches. Shiro fumbles and Keith shakes him loose. He sees him land bodily onto the level below, and he's barely back on his feet when Keith manages to swing his momentum to clean him up with a boot to his diaphragm, sending him through the railing.

Keith can hear his heartbeat racing wildly in his ears, and his vision suddenly sharpens into extreme focus and technicolour as he finally goes on the attack. He bears down on Shiro with his Luxite blade, his body humming with adrenaline, saturating his senses. Then a wicked grin, so out of place on those kind lips, splits Shiro’s expression.

“That's the Keith I remember.”

It snaps him out of the moment, jarring his body whole, and Keith suddenly eases back, startled by the implication. The thought that this moment now would retrieve _any_ memory of their past is like a physical blow.

Shiro capitalises.

Keith scrambles when his blade goes flying, knowing he has a such a small window of time to retrieve it before Shiro’s blade will find its mark. He ducks under his swing and dives, wrenching the blade out from the platform, barely escaping as rubble separates the two of them. It's a brief moment of reprieve, and it gives Keith a chance to realise that his heart squeezes with grief and not just exertion.

“Shiro, I know you're in there,” he pleads. He knows it won't get through, but he tries all the same, because he must. The Abyss memories fall out of sync for just a moment. “You made me a promise once. You told me you would never give up on me.”

“And I should have abandoned you just like your parents did.”

It washes over him, cutting and devastating, but Keith faces them with an odd sense of calm.

“They saw that you were broken. Worthless. I should have seen it too.”

In a sick way, the words are reassuring. They tell him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Shiro is not in control. Because he knows wholeheartedly that he would never say these words to him. It's a moment of clarity. He knows his worth now, and he knows his worth to Shiro. He'll bring him back if it's the last thing he ever does.

“I'm not leaving here without you,” Keith tells Shiro, to reassure him, however far buried he is under the layers of Haggar's trickery.

He's met with predatory glee that chills him to his bones as his last Abyss memories line up again, like returned signal after static.  
“Actually, neither of us are leaving.”

Keith can only watch in horror as Shiro’s prosthetic lights up and he doubles over, crying out. He sees his eyes widen as he grips his wrist, and for a brief moment, Keith is reminded of how he looks when his phantom pain takes hold. The metal hums and climbs the remainder of the flesh on the limb, cannibalizing his shoulder. It drives him to his knees. He's in so much pain, far more than ever before. Keith can see it from the way he gnashes his teeth and in the animalistic look that twists his face. He wants nothing more than to run to him, to comfort him and rip him free from the source of his suffering. But then he straightens unsteadily and Keith sees the cannon that has taken up residence on the limb. Keith can only run away as it fires wildly, destroying the facility top to bottom around them. Shiro is up and stalking him though, sending entire floors and clone pods falling down to the planet below them. Keith doesn't have time to consider how he feels about seeing countless pods fall to certain demise. He's falling too.

He finds his footing and leaps to avoid another death, crushed under the weight of a rogue pod. It's the last gift the Abyss has for him. From here, he's on his own. He only just manages to grab onto the edge circular base that serves as his only barrier between him and a freefall to the planet thousands of miles beneath him. He feels the shock travel all the way up his arm, niggling the old injury in his shoulder. It wrenches the air from his lungs. He has no energy left, but he pulls himself up on pure power of will. Shiro still needs him. He can't give up. He rolls onto his back, panting, and looks to where his blade has landed, buried in the floor. He crawls, reaching for the hilt, but he's at his limits and his shaking limbs fail and collapse. There’s a pause of crackling static, then the floor clangs against his chestplate as heavy footfalls land in front of him. Plasma hums in front of him, and Keith doesn't have any more visions left to help him, but he can guess what comes next.

Summoning strength he doesn't have, he reaches again, wrenching the blade free and turning on his back to meet the weapon soaring toward him. His arms strain and scream fatigue as he fights the intent of Shiro’s weight bearing down on him. The plasma blade licks sharp, biting heat across his skin. Desperation floods him.

“Shiro, please,” he gasps out. “You're my brother.”

It's that and so much more. Family in everything but blood and name. Brothers in arms both at the Garrison, and with Voltron. It doesn't move Shiro at all. Keith concedes another fraction of an inch, his breath shallow and painful, tears prickling his eyes and garbling his voice.

“I love you.”

Shiro's eyes widen in front of him, and the weight eases for the briefest moment as if the words have shaken him. When he presses down once more, there's a new look on his face. Torment. Agony.

“Just let go Keith.”  
He hears it for what it is; a plea.  
“You don't have to fight any more.”

And it's tempting, so tempting. To surrender to Shiro’s will and let him take him under. But he can't. Not yet. He loses ground to Shiro again, and he turns his face away as the heat closes in.

“By now the team's already gone.”

 _No_...

“I saw to it myself.”

The plasma sears and bubbles at his cheek, and the universe flashes into technicolour again with the arrival of pain. Adrenaline sings through his blood and strength returns to him anew. The Black Bayard calls to him, materialising in his right hand, and Keith feels power surge through his limbs as he shoves back against Shiro and swings the second blade, slicing cleanly through the monstrosity that has taken over his right arm. It's a cruel irony that he would take him down with the very weapon that was always supposed to be his. Shiro recoils violently and Keith rises to his feet as he falls to his knees. He looks up him, and Keith wants to cry. Because those are his eyes again. That is his face. And still, somehow, it's not.

“Keith…”

It's soft, it's weak, and it wrecks him entirely. Far more than plasma or brainwashed venom. The ground under his feet tremors, cables around them snap, and Shiro slumps as the platform cracks and tilts. Keith surges forward when he starts to slip, deactivating the Bayard to grab his hand, sinking his Luxite blade into the metal and feeling it catch. It jarrs his arm mercilessly and his shoulder protests again. The full weight of Shiro’s body hanging limply only magnifies the ache. He ignores it.

They can't stay like this, so Keith tries to pull them up. But his blade slips at the shift of weight, and a Keith braces as they jolt to a stop again. A horrible fear curls into his belly as realisation washes over him. He can't save him. And if he doesn't let go, he won't survive either. He tightens his death grip on Shiro's wrist as the platform shakes again. Keith knows already that he would die for him.

He’s willing to die with him too.

There’s an initial lurch in his stomach when they start falling together. But then his body adjusts to the freefall and it just feels like floating. It doesn't make it any less terrifying. He focuses on the pulse in Shiro’s wrist under his fingers and holds tight. He's out cold, and for that, Keith is grateful. This way, at least he will have a little peace at the very end.

Keith’s heart wrenches. The end… This is truly it now. Gravity sinking its claws in and pulling them down, down. Maybe they'll burn up in the atmosphere like falling stars, before they even reach the surface. It would be fitting. Shiro has always shined so bright and Keith has only ever been the tail in his comet, trailing unendingly behind him.

He looks beautiful, even now. Broken and lifeless and bathed in eerie glaring light as they rush toward death together. Keith watches long enough to burn it into his memory, then closes his eyes. He's always been too afraid to look death in the eye.

They say that one's life will flash before their eyes, and it's true. All Keith sees is Shiro. From the first moment he walked through that classroom door, to leather jackets and hoverbikes, and the moment he knew he would bind himself to him forever.

_“I will never give up on you. But more importantly, you can't give up on yourself.”_

It gives him the courage to open his eyes one last time. To face their demise with the dignity Shiro deserves and witness their final moments. Intertwined as always.

His vision goes white and an oddly familiar warmth surrounds him. In this place between, he thinks of the last words he ever spoke to the universe. They have never been more true than now.

* * *

The afterlife is unexpected. It's another belief Keith never held that's been proved to him again. If he had to guess what such a thing would be like, this isn't terribly off the mark. Glittering, unearthly fields that stretch forever. Beautiful, and lonely.

_“Keith…”_

Maybe not so lonely after all.

Keith calls out into the emptiness, hearing it echo back to him, bracing himself again unconsciously.

_“I know this must be confusing for you.”_

His voice is all around him, warm and gentle. It's a tone he hasn't heard for… years. Not since before the second time he disappeared. But Keith is too cynical to let down his guard. He summons the Black Bayard on instinct, and it materialises in his grip.

“What is this place? Where are you? You—" and it hurts to voice it aloud, “you were trying to kill me.”  
He turns, trying to find the source of the omnipresent voice.  
“The others…” His heart breaks as he remembers. “You… you said you…”

He senses a change in the energy around him and he whips around, eyes widening as Shiro materialises behind him. He's different, not just in the way his body glows, ethereal, or the way his hair or arm looks. It's something else far more familiar and perhaps a little forgotten.

 _“I'm not here to harm you,”_ he reassures. _“Everyone is fine. Just let me explain…”_

He listens, but it's too much. Keith doesn't understand. How could he have been trapped? How could he be here all this time?

_“I died, Keith.”_

He spirals. The universe has already crumbled, but it falls away again. There’s no breath to give in his lungs, but it’s stolen from him anyway. No heat in his skin, but the frost still creeps in. Dead. All this time. The one thing he cherished most in the universe, and it had been ripped away from him all this time without him even knowing.

He hears what Shiro says to him, but those three word loop over and over in his mind. Dead.

Dead.

All this time fighting to save him, when he had lost long ago. It's cruel and it's unfair and Keith wants to scream. What about that last vision in the Abyss, of Earth and tenderness in the quiet of night? Was it just a cruel lie, or had he simply been dreaming? He feels cheated. He feels betrayed. How Black managed to preserve him here, Keith doesn't think he'll ever understand, but he's torn between bittersweet gratitude and ferocious anger that the Lion let him die in the first place.

Shiro fades away, despite his calls, but then _everything_ fades and he realises it's because he's waking up.

Wait… waking up?...

Keith pushes himself up hazily, vision swimming back into focus. He aches all over. Ribs and teeth and the flesh of his cheek. It's agony. And it's wonderful. It means he’s alive. He recognises his surroundings.

“You saved us…” he whispers, not sure if he is talking to the Lion or the consciousness locked inside of him. A weak groan startles him, and draws his attention to the other body lying with him. Keith freezes and doesn't realise he's crying until a sob wracks through him, jostling his bruised ribs. Fear makes him hesitate only for a fraction of a moment before he scrambles forward on hands and knees to touch his chest, reassuring him that he's still breathing. The heartbeat he finds is not as strong as it should be, and Keith feels his throat tighten. He touches his face, then curls over him to press his forehead against Shir— the imposter’s, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping down onto his.

“Please hold on.”  
He knows he's speaking to both of them.  
“I promised I'd save you. Just stay with me a little longer. Please.”

Every inch of his body protests as he slips his arms under his neck and knees and lifts. He staggers down to one knee on the first attempt, but holds tight. He won't drop him. He won't let go. It's slow. His feet drag, and the toes of his boots try to catch on the floor with every other step. The pain he felt upon waking is tenfold by the time he reaches the emergency escape pods down in the centre of Black. They'll serve well enough as a resting place, and the inbuilt life support systems will buy him extra time. Keith ignores the shaking in his arms as he lowers the body down, tenderly rearranging limbs in an effort to ensure he rests comfortably. He brushes the white hair of his fringe away from his eyes, lingering just a moment before he closes the pod. It hisses as it seals and Keith hopes he won't hate him for locking him in secure if he wakes up.

He limps back to the cockpit, sitting heavily in the pilot's chair. He winces, regretting his lack of care immediately. Warmth envelopes him in response, and he lets out a shaky breath, leaning forward to check his console and take the controls. He's still down a thruster, and he'll have to patch his radio signal back to the Castle. First he works on locking down his navigation, although Black seems to have it under control.

“You were here the whole time,” he says softly to the monitors. “All this time… and you were right here. And I didn't—"

He bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather. He doesn't have time to grieve. He has a mission ahead of him. He runs the calculations on the Castle’s position and his chest tightens. It will take at least seven vargas to reach them. Nine, when he considers that he's on half power. And that's being generous. He also picks up another signal: the Sincline ships. And they're tracking to the same destination at a much faster pace.

“Sorry boy. We're going to have to work harder than that.”

He attempts to reroute some of the power in other parts of the Lion to the sole thruster, giving up security in his shields and weapons. It's risky, but hopefully he won't find anything on his path back. He refuses to drain anything from the pods though. He would sooner cut off the life support in the cockpit. Black growls at the thought, and Keith wonders who it is that is chastising him.

“I know, I know… Fat lot of good it will do him if I manage to die before we make it back.”

He pushes forward on the controls and they do move a little faster. Five vargas. It's still not enough. Keith sighs his frustration, but starts work on zoning in on the Castle’s communications. Without his helmet, it's a little harder, but eventually a soft hiss comes through the console. He's too far away still, but hopefully the signal will get stronger soon.

He sits in crackling static for close to half a varga, one eye on the monitor watching the pods, before his line finally goes through.

He's met with Lance and Allura, who both look teary and exhausted. Keith has never been more relieved to see them. They seem relieved to see him too, and he holds tightly to that. Unsurprisingly, they're both bewildered by the notion of a clone, but Keith doesn't have the luxury of time on his side. He warns them of Lotor's arrival and their need to prepare without him.

Space is flying past him at speeds he shouldn't be able to reach in Black's condition. But it's still not enough and he knows it. His bond with the Lion is shaky at best. Their time together had been limited, and Keith knows he's to blame for the barrier between them. He hadn't been willing to accept his place in this chair, even after Black reached out to him. But now, with the benefit of two more years, he realises he was foolish. He shouldn't have rejected this, and now he's paying the price. There’s only one person who would know what to do.

“Shiro, if you're here, I could use your help.”  
It comes out like a prayer, voice cracking as he closes his eyes, trying to visualise that place that they had stood together after the battle.  
“I need to get to the team before Lotor.”

Black growls, and the warmth in his chest spreads as they suddenly pick up speed all over again. Keith grips tight to his controls, heart racing too.

He can hear the Paladins when they put on their helmets, and he lets their voices soothe him at first. Allura is admirable and level headed in the face of her inner turmoil. His already sizable respect for her increases tenfold when she directs the team to destroy the trans-reality gate.

Then they begin panicking over his absence and the attempt for calm vanishes immediately. He glances to the monitor to check on Shiro’s clone, and tries feed a little more of himself to the Lion to give them more power. He listens to Lotor arrive and holds his breath. Maybe… maybe they can talk this out. Maybe it will be okay.

It's naive, Keith knows, but he's still crushed when he hears Lotor give the order to destroy the Lions. He can only endure the sound of the fire that follows, hoping beyond hope that the team can outlast. It sounds messy, but they seem to be holding their own at first, until Lance’s voice sinks dread into his stomach.

“ _He's created his own Voltron._ ”

“No…”

The Sincline ships alone are enough of a challenge when they have Voltron. He doesn't have to be Pidge to know where the math leaves them here. Every crash, every cry, drives a dagger further into his heart. They're his family, he realises - all of them - and hearing them suffer tears him apart. He needs to do more.

“Shiro, I have to get to the Paladins,” he begs. “I need your help.”

The Lion doesn't respond. But he can't accept that. He pushes harder.

“Shiro…”

Gloves creak on his controls as his grip tightens.

“Shiro.”

Anger and desperation and grief tear his name from his throat.

“Shiro!”

He feels himself lurch out of his body, and he opens his eyes to glittering fields again. Something touches his shoulder and he knows it's him before he even sees his face. Soft and incorporeal and so much closer this time. There is serenity to him, a deep sense of peace as he smiles at him, as if it's been forever. Maybe it has.

He’s still confused, but he doesn't feel lost. With Shiro beside him, he’ll find the way.

_“See through the Lion's eyes. Patience yields focus.”_

There’s so much more Keith needs to say to him as they stand side-by-side in the golden light. It tears at the edges of his soul and he can only hope that this isn't a goodbye, because it feels an awful lot like one. But then he feels the link with Black click gently into place. The field and the cockpit fall away, and his vision is filled with a battle far far away, with Lotor at the helm of a sleek, dangerous beast, and his team fending him off as best as they can.

“I see them.”

Then he steels himself, because he knows what to do. He pours his life force, his being into Black, not sparing a thought to how this was likely the very thing that caused Shiro's own demise. He gives and gives, but there’s no end to what he can offer the Lion. He feels power surge through them both, feels Black’s snarl of triumph resonate through his body. He needs more though. To push harder and further than either of them have ever gone. He thinks he'll fall short of what they require, but then warmth covers his knuckles, and it feels like hands holding his own on the controls. With a yell, he thrusts the controls forward, knowing it's not just him there. He's not alone. He’s never been alone here. His body feels like it's blazing and burning up, but _he_ is there, wrapped around him and keeping him safe, keeping him grounded and tangible. 

Suddenly Lotor isn't just in his mind's eye. He's right in front of him, and he warps through the Sincline cannon and emerges in a flash of winged fury to position himself protectively in front of his Pride. 

 _Pride, huh? Never knew you thought of them that way._  

Keith can echo the sentiment though. Hearing their relief bolsters him, and his aches and pains fade away. Voltron comes together, and this time he doesn't feel like a fraud. Black’s consciousness settles over him like a second skin, and their connection feels strong at both ends. He won't fight this any more. This is where he is meant to be.

Before the fight can begin, he ensures his precious cargo is kept safe. He sends the clone, still sleeping undisturbed in the pod, back to the Castle to give him his best chance out of this. He won't risk his life. Not after everything they've been through.

Lotor's Sincline monster recovers all too quickly. The mecha is devilishly fast. More agile than Voltron. More _powerful_ than Voltron. And there's only one pilot within. Granted, Voltron starts at the disadvantage; the other Lions had been battered and tossed around before his arrival with Black, and the two of them hadn't exactly stormed in in top shape either.

Lance celebrates prematurely when they finally make a direct hit, but Keith’s skin buzzes uncomfortably. Black, or maybe Shiro, nudges his focus to his left, just in time to see Lotor burst back into reality and strike them again. He's jumping through the quintessence field, they realise with horror, all without the trans-reality gate. He comes out stronger and faster every time. They have no choice.

They follow him in.

* * *

It's not noble to prioritise one life over another. But that is an internal dilemma Keith abandoned long ago with Shiro. He doesn't want to leave Lotor, but when he feels his team falling to the seduction of the quintessence around them, the decision is easy. Lotor drowns in his paradise, and Voltron breaks for the surface, reluctant as it may be.

_You can't save everyone._

Keith isn't entirely sure the thought is his own.

The collateral in Lotor's wake is beyond imagination. Realities bleed and the universe is tearing itself apart to stem the flow. They only have a matter of moments to spare.

The Lions scramble back to the Castle to gather their most treasured possessions before they send the ship to its doom. Krolia is already waiting with Kosmo and the clone when Keith jumps from Black, so he bypasses his own room to gather Shiro's belongings from his quarters. He tears through drawers to grab as much as he can carry, from scattered holodrives, to spare clothing, slippers and soap, and even the makeshift mirror box they made together. He turns with the intent of sprinting back to Black, but a flash of red on the bed gives him pause. He walks over to the cot, pulling his jacket out from under the pillow, and he freezes. Shiro… the clone… he must have taken it from his room after they first captured Lotor. Keith swallows down the lump in his throat, the leather creaking in his grip. The thought of him sleeping with a little piece of him in his absence is almost too much to bear. Coran breaks the spell with a Castle-wide announcement that they only have three dobashes left to evacuate, so Keith throws the jacket over the bundle in his arms and hurries back to the hangar.

He feels numb as he watches the Castle’s destruction. Maybe it wasn't home for him, but the memories that had been cultivated there are precious and important to him, and it feels a little like the Universe is trying to steal that from him too.

Krolia comforts him with a hand on his shoulder, and Keith can feel her assessing him, taking in his wounds.

“I'm okay,” he lies, and he's grateful when she doesn't call him out on it. There’s no time for him just yet. Coran sends coordinates for the nearest habitable planet from Blue, and Keith plugs away at his console.

Krolia seems to understand her presence elsewhere would be far more beneficial to him, and Keith glances at his monitor as he watches her join the clone’s pod again. He sits in silence for a moment, before switching off his line to the other Paladins.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the cockpit. “You saw me at my worst in here. I didn't want this and I fought it. I let you down.”  
His thumbs slide over the controls in his hands, an absent attempt at comfort.  
“But now I'm going to do better… going to _be_ better. And I'm going to figure this out. I still haven't given up.”

Black rumbles quietly beneath him.

“Just hold on, okay? We’re not done yet.”

* * *

Black touches down on the surface gingerly, as if also occupied by thoughts of their sleeping passenger. Keith leaps from his pilot's chair to hurry down further into the Lion, and Krolia stands back automatically when she sees him.

“Still breathing,” she assures him, as he places his hand on the glass. Kosmo moves to him to nudge his thigh with a whine.  
“All things considered, his vitals look good. He's just not…”  
Krolia trails off, trying to find the way to say it delicately.

“He's still fading away,” Keith supplies quietly.

Krolia doesn't respond, but he can imagine her expression. Tight lipped, and brow pinched, but with a softness to her eyes that betrays a deeper sadness. He has learned it well enough in the last two years. He opens the pod, reaching in and feeling the immediate strain in his body as he lifts the clone again, cradling him tenderly.

“Keith…”

He turns to her, stubborn, and she must decide it's not worth the fight, because she sighs and moves to lead the way out of the Lion. Kosmo hesitates, but Keith gestures with a slight nod and the wolf flashes after her. Willing his legs not to shake, he follows them.

The others are already on the ground and waiting for him when he takes his first step onto the surface. Keith doesn't hurry those last steps, pressing his cheek to the top of the clone’s head and breathing in slowly. This is the body that tried to kill him. He would still lay his life down for this shell in an instant. There's a heartbeat against his chest, but the life inside is waning, and Keith feels a deep chasm in his soul with the weight of that. He might have been a clone, but he was real too. He loved him too. He lost him too.

It doesn't have to be in vain though. He kneels on the ground to set him down so carefully, cradling his head so it won't touch the ground. He doesn't take his eyes off of him, not when Lance confronts his failings, nor even as Allura walks to the Black Lion to divide and extract Shiro's essence from the ship. His mind is begging him not to hope, but his heart splutters with it as Allura’s hands press to his temples and lights his body whole. Still holding his head gently, Keith’s other hand floats immediately to his chest, to find that reassuring pulse, to silence his fear. He watches, scared and wonderstruck, as his crown, his brows, his lashes fade to white before him and the glow starts to recede.

A beat, then beautiful grey eyes fly open. Shiro takes a breath that sounds like it burns as he shoots upright. The energy fizzles from him almost immediately and Keith automatically catches him as he slumps and falls way from Lance to land on his chest. His heart hammers against his armour as he watches him fight to look up at him. Exhaustion softens his gaze, and the awe reflected back at him takes his breath away.

“You found me.”

And Keith rejoices. It's him, without a shadow of a doubt. Keith always knew he would bargain and scrap with Death itself to keep Shiro safe. Now the proof of that lies in his arms, warm and heavy and alive.

“We're glad you're back Shiro,” he says, soft and quiet.

“Rest,” Allura encourages beside him.

Keith's feels a scramble of panic in his chest as he closes his eyes again, but Shiro's soft breaths even him out again quickly. Black nudges gently at the edge of his mind, and there's only one phrase he conveys back, over and over again.

_Thank you… Thank you, thank you, thank you…_

* * *

Earth.

Now that the idea has finally settled in, it's the most alien thought Keith has had in years. It's going to be a hard journey, one taken the long way around without the help of the Teleduv and the Castle’s wormholes. But there's a lot to be done first before they can leave.

Krolia busies herself by attempting to establish contact with the Blades, while Allura and Lance follow suit with the Rebels. Their success is still sketchy, even after their little adventure to help repower the Lions. Coran tries to plan their navigation without the help of the Castle’s computers. Romelle proves to be too much of a distraction at times though, and he frequently stops to ask just a few of the millions of questions he has for her. No one says anything. Keith knows he's still struggling to wind back the idea that he and Allura were the last Alteans in this Universe. It will take time.

Pidge and Hunk make their way systematically through each of the Lions, checking for damage and inefficiencies. Their fight with Lotor has some lasting effects and it will take them time before they will be able to lift off again. Black’s thruster still requires a little tinkering, but it's more for everyone's peace of mind than for any sign of permanent injury.

No one asks Keith for his assistance. They have been keeping their distance from where he sits propped back against Black's paw, Kosmo curled by his side and Shiro lying against his chest. It had been touch and go for a little while there, but it seems now his soul has finally settled, even if the exhaustion still hasn't quite left him yet. Keith cares little for any audience they may have, watching him sleep peacefully.

At first, he had thought to leave him in the pod where he would be more comfortable, but when he had voiced as much to him, he had been met with weak protest.

“Can we… go outside?” Shiro had begged breathlessly. “I just— I've been in here a… a _long_ time.”  
Keith had frozen beside him.  
“I want to feel the sun for a little while…”

He watches him as he dozes, gloves shucked off so he can run his fingers through silvered hair. Kosmo's tail thumps on the ground beside him and it draws his gaze up, to see Lance watching them with a strange expression. He still looks troubled - he hasn’t dealt well with the weight of Shiro’s revelations - but there’s something else there too. Keith tenses defensively. He's just close enough that he doesn't have to raise his voice and risk waking Shiro.

“What?”

Allura glances up too and Lance looks guilty immediately, ducking his head. It seems terribly out of place for an interaction between the two of them.

“Nothing.”

Keith's eyes narrow.

“It's just… weird seeing you be so open about…” he gestures widely at him, and Keith blinks.

“You knew?”

 _“Bit hard to miss buddy,”_ Hunk’s voice comes through the helmets Lance and Allura have set aside. It startles him.

 _“If it makes you feel better, Lance was the last to figure it out,”_ Pidge’s voice chips in.

Keith feels a grin tug at the corner of his mouth.  
“It kinda does.”

“Hey!”

“What we're trying to say,” Allura interjects gently, “is that we're all really glad you got him back, Keith.”

Keith's throat feels tight again.  
“It's all thanks to you.”

But Allura shakes her head.  
“I merely took the last step. You're the one who brought him here, all by yourself. You're to one who kept him fighting when his body wanted to reject him. He's lucky to have you.”

Allura has it the wrong way around, but he doesn't trust his voice to correct her. He just looks down to Shiro’s sleeping face, and the others return to their tasks. The fingers in his hair move to trace over his brow bone, then down over the scar on the bridge of his nose. How terribly cruel, he thinks, for Haggar to inflict pain on this body just to make it a believable replica. He feels a rush of grief for all of her experiments and lab rats, because he knows this body wasn't the only one. It probably wasn't even the first either. _That's_ something he doesn't want to think about too hard.

A sigh passes Shiro's lips that breaks his haunted musings, and slowly his eyes start to open again, with lashes that look like they have caught flecks of snow on a winter wind. Keith holds him a little closer when his gaze flicks up to him and he smiles.

“You're still here,” he murmurs as his eyes close.

“Of course,” Keith rushes out. “I'm not going anywhere. You're not leaving my sight.”

Shiro huffs a tired laugh.  
“Sorry I'm poor company for the time being. Bodies are more exhausting than I remember.”

“Making jokes already?” Keith grumbles as he drops his hand to wrap both arms around him, curling over him. “You'll be running around in no time at this rate.”

Shiro gives another quiet laugh, and he opens his eyes to look up into his face. The expression is complicated; adoration and agony all at once. Keith goes to ask him what's wrong, but then he stretches up to touch his face, hesitating and hovering above his cheek.

“I hurt you,” he whispers, horrified. “I remember…”

Keith pauses, before reaching to cover and press Shiro's hand to his cheek. The wound isn't fresh. The quintessence field saw to that. It itches like it's in its last stages of healing, and the sting of Shiro's touch is a strange relief. At least he knows he still has sensation.

“It wasn't his choice, or yours. I know that.”

He lets go of Shiro's hand and stays still as his thumb traces the mark. He hasn't seen it himself yet, so his heartbeat trips in his chest when Shiro presses in lightly just under his eye. He hadn't realised just how far the wound spread over his cheek.

“You could have been blinded,” Shiro whispers.

“But I wasn't.”

He waits patiently as Shiro's fingers explore his face. He must be looking for other injuries, because he hovers at the underside of his jaw, where Keith remembers the blow that dislodged his helmet.

“And here. I—"

“No,” Keith says firmly.  
“We're not cataloguing this, unless you want me to apologise for your arm too.”

That silences him for a moment. But it doesn't last.

“The things he said…” Shiro looks desperate. “About your parents—"

“I didn't believe it for a moment,” Keith interrupts. “I knew it wasn't true. It's how I knew you weren't in control.”

Shiro takes in an unsteady breath, the way he does when he's trying not to cry. It doesn't work, and Keith wipes away a tear as it tracks from the corner of his eye.  
“You were going to die with me.”

He doesn't know what to say when he looks so troubled, so Keith stays silent, letting him work through it aloud.

“You said you love me.”  
It comes out rough.  
“You could have been moments from death and you still said that.”

Keith leans forward to press his forehead to his.  
“What else was I meant to say?” he laughs softly, but it's a wet sound, and he follows it with a sniff.

“I don't know,” Shiro hiccups. “‘You're an asshole? Please stop trying to kill me?’ Something like that.”

Keith chokes a laugh, brushing his nose against his.

“It got through,” Shiro says quietly. “You shook the control they had over him. Knowing you still loved him in that moment, when you should have wanted him dead... And he loved— _loves_ you so much. I can feel it.”

Keith pulls back a little with wide eyes.  
“Can you sense him with you?”

Shiro contents himself with curling Keith's hair around his fingertips, nodding.

“I didn't think it was possible, but I guess I just love you twice as much now.”

It's Keith's turn to let out an uneven breath. He swallows, but his voice still sounds small when he speaks again.  
“Can I kiss you?”

And Shiro smiles in such a way that it cuts through the exhaustion in his eyes and lights him up from within.  
“Please. I feel like I've been waiting forever.”

Keith fights the urge to rush into it, taking care to ensure he cradles him comfortably. Fingers brush over delicate lips, before settling at his jaw. Then he leans in to carefully pour all of himself into Shiro. His lips press back, tender and reverent in the way Keith remembers from before the battle. He loses himself to it all at once. On a logical level, it shouldn't be any different. But, oh, it is. Sweet and devout and like coming home. He pulls back just enough to let Shiro breathe, not wanting to overwhelm him. They have time again. The rest will come soon enough. So he’ll be patient.  
“You know I love you,” he tells him quietly. “I know you love me too.”

Shiro is still smiling to him when he opens his eyes again. His answer is all saccharine and sincerity.

“More than everything in all of the Universes.”

* * *

Shiro wants to ride in the cockpit with him. Keith tries to convince him he needs to rest, that the journey back to Earth will be long and there will be plenty of time for the two of them. But Shiro insists in such a way that Keith is far too weak resist.

“How's your arm?” Keith asks as Shiro settles against his body. The chest plates of their armour have been removed, so Keith can feel how Shiro’s body leeches the heat from his. It's a comfort to know he is keeping him warm. What remains of Shiro's arm moves against his ribs as he attempts to get comfortable.

“There's pins and needles,” he answers from where he sits sideways between his legs and half in his lap in the pilot’s seat. Keith has a rush of relief, then guilt. He hates that the pain is back. But it's also just another little reminder that this is his Shiro too.  
“Feels weird to have that back. Nothing I can't manage though.”

Keith swallows down the lump in his throat.  
“It's going to be harder to visualise while we figure out your prosthetic,” he says quietly.

“We’ll manage,” Shiro soothes. It feels all wrong that he should be reassuring him right now, but Keith nods resolutely. There's a pause between them before Shiro edges a little further into his lap.  
“Look at you,” he smiles. “Two years older and more beautiful than ever.”

It's so heartfelt that Keith feels himself blushing.

“Meanwhile I've supposedly not aged a day and look a hundred.”

“Not true,” Keith rebuffs immediately. “You still look young. You're just my silver fox now.”  
His heart leaps when Shiro chuckles in response.  
“It's like moonlight,” he muses softly, a hand rising from his controls to run through the strands where they're longer at the top.

Shiro’s broken arm shifts, as if to return the gesture, forgetting its loss for just a moment. A grimace flicks across his expression, but it's quickly replaced with a look of fondness.  
“If I'm the moon, then you're my sun,” he says so tenderly.

The flare in Keith’s chest certainly supports the claim. He's too embarrassed to reply, so he simply scratches at Shiro's scalp until his eyes start to fall closed, content.  
“If you really don't like it, we can dye it or something when we get home.”

“Home?” Shiro repeats.  
A hand lands gently on his cheek, guiding him down to loving eyes and a smile that could bring the galaxy to its knees. Keith leans down to kiss him tenderly with very little coaxing.  
“I'm already home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about that SDCC panel eh?...
> 
> I'm sorry this got so long, and I'm still not sure how I feel about getting so bogged down in The Black Paladins, but frick what an episode. I'm still reeling over a month later. I'm already planning my funeral for when season 7 hits wow.
> 
> Catch me crying at copilotsheith on [tumblr](https://copilotsheith.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/copilotsheith)


	3. A Promise is a Promise

The bruises and battle scars tell a tale they won't. They can't. He and Shiro only say enough to explain the bare bones of the facility calamity, but the gruesome details - the close calls, the tears and words shared, both cruel and pleading - stay theirs only. Still, it's written in both of their bodies, and the team must know there's more. That they might never have the full story.

Nothing is more telling than the dark marks that ring Shiro's left wrist, even a week after they set course for Earth. Keith’s jaw blooms in purple under his new scar within a day after they set off in the Lions. Ugly splotches in yellow and black soon follow, sprawled over his tender ribs and battered limbs. But they all quickly fade with care. Shiro’s don't want to budge, another sign of his slow recovery. But the bruises on his wrist from a grip held like a vice stay the longest. It's still sore too, Keith can see. He winces whenever he holds onto something too tight. Hisses under his breath when he bends it the wrong way. It’s still a little blue in the middle of the shapes of Keith's fingers, and it's strangely reminiscent of the one Shiro gave him on the Castle Ship training deck years ago. He smiles though whenever he lets Keith inspect it, gunmetal gratitude driving the knife of shame a little further between his ribs every time.

“It's fine,” he insists, after Keith asks for the millionth time if it hurts. “Whenever I _do_ feel it, it's just a gentle reminder of what you did for me. It's going to be a little sad to see it heal.”

Keith can't summon a reply to that, so he simply kisses the inside of his wrist before replacing his glove once more.

By far, the worst marker of their battle comes in the form of the metal that has taken up residence on his shoulder. It has been a struggle to adapt without the limb. The mismatch of weight leaves Shiro off-balance, and he handles himself with far less of his usual grace with just his left hand. It’s not that Keith regrets cleaving the rogue limb from his body. That thing had been a weapon of mutual destruction, destined to kill them both without question. Given his time again, he would only try to hack it away from him sooner, before the druid technology could grow and eat away at what was left of his arm.

Keith doesn't regret, but he's still plagued with guilt. Shiro lives in discomfort. The hulking shoulder piece makes it hard for Keith to soothe away any ache he might feel in his missing fingers, and sleeping on it at night is a struggle in and of itself. Sometimes they waste hours of sleep and frustrated tears together just trying to find relief.

The skin at the seam of the druid technology looks irritated and burnt, and Keith finds himself hyperfocusing on the thought of how much flesh has been consumed by it underneath. It's clear that Shiro has lost his bicep entirely. Only exposed metal and wiring remains where Keith sliced through with the bayard, and there's a very real chance that the crest of his shoulder has been cannibalised too. That thought alone is enough to turn Keith’s stomach. It makes him want to hook his nails in under the edge of the fused pauldron and _pull_ until it comes away from his flesh. He admits as much to Krolia, quietly horrified by his own violent fantasies.

“Having irrational thoughts are only dangerous if you ever start considering them rational,” she says sagely as she cleans their blade.  
“I know it distresses you to see him like this, but it won't be forever. Someone will have a solution, whether it's a removal or a replacement. Shiro will have to make that decision for himself.”  
She stands and hands the blade back to him as it shrinks back to its dagger form.  
“Either way, it shouldn't be rushed. That device is probably the only thing keeping his nerve endings alive. The druid’s magic is cruel… but it is practical. Sacrificing that to put an end to any pain might be tempting, but it would be short-sighted.”  
Her eyes soften as she takes in the conflict that plays across his face like an open book.

“Be brave, Keith.”

He tries for him.

* * *

Shiro feels like a stranger in his own skin. It's something Keith is all too keenly aware of. He sees it in little ways. He forgets for a moment and tries to reach with a hand that isn't there. He ignores his new limitations and volunteers to put his body on the line when he simply can't. The spirit is weak and willing all at once, and Keith knows it crushes him when he finds himself sidelined. He catches Shiro staring into the vastness of space outside the cockpit window when Krolia takes another task off of him, and his heart breaks. It's like watching a caged canary that has lost the ability to sing.

When Keith comes to his bunk after the other paladins are asleep, he finds him staring down at the scars that litter his chest. Grey eyes flick up to him when Kosmo’s tail thumps at the end of the bed, and he quickly plasters on a smile that doesn't look quite right.

“Hey,” he says softly, warm as ever.

Keith eases, moving to the bedside so he can lean down to kiss his lips tenderly. He lingers a moment longer than he would have before, to ease the terror that creeps into his heart whenever Shiro moves out of his sight. It would be absurd if he didn’t remember all the times he’s lost him before. But since the facility, this thing between them has felt frightening, fragile and new in a way neither of them are to blame for. Keith doesn’t know if he’s more terrified of scaring him away, or of the thought of him vanishing again. But the feeling of lips, cracked but gentle, pressing back against his does enough to chase away his lingering fears just for now.  
“Hey,” he returns finally, just as quietly.  
“Doing okay here?”  
A hand comes to rest in the gap of his armour at the back of his knee when he draws back to remove his chestplate. There's a little frown on his face, and Keith feels another wave of guilt immediately.  
“Sorry, I didn't mean to coddle, I just… You looked like you were deep in thought. I was just wondering whether you wanted to share what's on your mind.”

Shiro schools his expression back, but there’s something disturbingly vacant in his eyes while he watches Keith strip down, as if he doesn't see him at all.  
“I was thinking about the scars.”  
Keith pauses on his bracers, swallowing. Shiro must sense his concern, because he comes back to himself with a blink, his hand rising to settle on the small of his back. Keith leans into the touch when fingers press carefully into the dip of his spine. A grounding exercise, he recognises it as, for both of them.  
“About how eerie it is that they're the same as before.”

Keith has thought about it too. About the precision of the replication, so much that even the clone hadn't suspected a thing. About all the perfect and whole bodies on standby at the facility. He curls over him to press a kiss into his hair.  
“I wish I had answers for you,” he murmurs. “Put a little more reason to it all...”

“Mm.”  
Shiro nods slightly.  
“It’s okay. I wish I understood too.”

Shiro assists him out of the rest of his armour, and Keith remains silent when his attempts hinder more than they help. He peels down the undersuit and kneels down on the bed beside him in his underwear, too tired to sift through their meagre belongings for a singlet.

“Visualising tonight?” Keith asks, running a hand over the metal of his shoulder.

“Please.”

The strain in the reply has him worried. Dealing with the phantom pain again has been a difficult process, and Keith only realises now just how much he misses the Castle Ship and all its resources. Figuring out the intricacies of Shiro’s ailment with only a fraction of the prosthetic left has been more challenging than he would ever like to give voice to. But he is far from admitting defeat. Keith crawls to sit behind him, and Shiro leans back into his chest on instinct. He presses a kiss to his nape and holds his right arm against what remains of Shiro's prosthetic.  
“We'll go for symmetrical movements,” he says, and it’s clinical, rehearsed. It doesn't help Shiro when he lets his guard down and drags in his emotional baggage. “I'll copy whatever you do with your left while you watch until you feel everything line up again.”

The exercise lasts nearly half a varga, with Kosmo quickly losing interest and curling up to sleep. Keith feels Black nudge at the corner of his mind as if to check in, or maybe just to ensure he stays awake through their routine while the ship around them drones drowsily. Shiro can sense he's exhausted too. He tries to put the exercise to an end prematurely only a few minutes in, claiming the phantom feeling is manageable. Keith isn't convinced though, and Shiro crumbles quickly under his scepticism to let them continue until he can see the tension leave his shoulders.

“It's different now,” Shiro says suddenly as he curls each of his fingers individually, watching Keith follow suit. “It used to feel like muscle spasms before. Kind of like… you know…”

Keith does know. He just doesn't like to think about it. About the band on his right wrist that never told time but still seemed to tick like an ominous clock back on Earth. Shiro has never spoken about his illness in all their time in space together. Keith hadn't presumed to bring it up. Why would he? It had never changed anything for him. Not his motivations, not his decisions, not his love.

“Now it's just a buzz,” Shiro continues quietly. “Less like lightning and more… dull thunder. It still gets uncomfortable sometimes, but it’s contained. I don't feel it run all through me any more.”

Keith swallows too loud.  
“That… that's good.”  
He's too scared to speak his hope aloud, that maybe - and God, wouldn't it be the kindest thing to come out of all this cruelty - maybe Haggar has reset their clock, or at least slowed it down just a little. Keith has always known that Shiro’s illness will be the one thing he can't save him from. When Coran had first told them their journey would take another year and a half, they had both shared a look, knowing they were already on borrowed time. It had been the closest Keith had ever come to blurting Shiro’s secret to everyone there in a moment of panicked fear.

But maybe this new body has pushed their looming deadline back. A few extra years to make up for those he has lost along the way is the very least he deserves. Keith can tell Shiro is fighting against the same hope too. He wouldn't have brought it up otherwise. But to consider it out loud, explicitly, must feel like a curse. Keith kisses his shoulder in a silent acknowledgement of the things they'll never say.  
“Maybe we’ll be able to fix your phantom pain completely when we get back to Earth.”

“Mm, maybe.”

When they're done, Shiro lays down on his left side as Keith shuffles in beside him, facing him. His body finally feels warm again beside him, Keith notices. For days after he first woke, Keith had held him close as he shivered in his sleep, sapping the heat out of his skin like a sink. Out of desperation, he had even invited Kosmo up onto the bed to help keep him warm and, well, that had been the end of the idea of the wolf ever sleeping on the floor again. Keith had quickly come to terms with the fact that they would be one of _those_  people who co-sleep with their pets. Even extraterrestrial ones that take up far too much space on such small mattresses.

Feeling Shiro’s body heat now is a relief. It's another little sign and a small comfort to know that he's mending, no matter how slow. Keith curls a leg between Shiro's knees as he shifts a little closer. They watch each other in silence for a moment, until Keith starts fighting the drag of his eyelids.

“Sleep,” Shiro murmurs to him, stretching to press a featherlight kiss to his lips.  
“I'm right here,” he assures, because he knows exactly why they both struggle to close their eyes. “I'll be here when you wake. Sleep.”

Keith hums his accord, letting his head sink a little further into the pillow. He hopes, distantly, that more memories won't come for Shiro in the night, as they so often do.

He doesn't expect the shadows of the past to chase _him_ into nightmares instead.

Keith wakes with the lingering smell of burnt flesh and plasma plaguing him, and the feeling of falling jolting through his bones. There’s a wetness on his face. Blood?

“Keith… you're safe. You’re on Black, and we’re heading back to Earth. We're all safe.”

Oh… tears then. Keith blinks through the fuzz of his dreams to look up into a troubled face. Shiro's fingers brush at his cheek, the metallic stump of his right arm braced on the pillow above his head. Keith knows it can't be comfortable for him.  
“Sorry,” he gasps out automatically, even though he's told Shiro a million times not to apologise for his own nightmares. He wipes quickly at his eyes. “Guess I didn't clear my mind properly before I fell asleep. Is it time to wake up?”

Shiro shakes his head.  
“Not yet, dear heart,” he says, voice soft with sleep.

Keith feels a pang of guilt.  
“Sorry,” he whispers again, capturing his hand and pulling it to his lips to kiss his palm. He sits up slightly to roll Shiro onto his back, following him down to lay his head on his chest, over his heart.  
“I didn't mean to wake you.”

“S’fine… Wanna talk about it?”

It’s like it’s their catch phrase these days. Keith shakes his head and exhales shakily when an arm wraps around him to pull him closer.

“Nothing new. Maybe later. I'll be okay in a minute or two.”  
Keith feels, rather than hears, the rumble of acknowledgement in Shiro's chest. It doesn't take long before his breath slows as he slips back into sleep. Keith focuses in on the steady thump under his ear; a reassurance that he’s real and alive. Closing his eyes, the metronome of his lover’s heart guides him back under again.

* * *

After they escape from the Galra pirates, after Acxa’s stories and the gravity of _three decophoebs_ , Keith finds himself, as he often does, seated beside Shiro. Pidge is curled on his left, a hand in her hair, having long cried herself to sleep over thoughts of her family.

“I think I should travel with Katie,” he says quietly, staring at the flames.

Keith's heart jolts immediately, but he scolds himself silently in the moment that follows. Shiro has always been close to her, the Holts like a second family to him. Of course he would want to look after her through this.  
“That makes sense,” he says quietly. “She shouldn't be alone right now. Not until we at least get hold of Matt.”

Shiro stays quiet for a beat too long.  
“Keith… I think I'm going to stay with the Green Lion for the rest of the way.”

And Keith doesn't just jolt, he shatters. Earth is still another year and a half away and that's assuming all things go smoothly and honestly when has it ever for them and, god, what did he do wrong? How could he have missed it, when did it happen? He'll fix it, whatever it is. He'll do anything. He’ll make it right, please.

Shiro realises he hasn't said anything and glances up from the flames. Whatever he sees must horrify him, because his eyes widen and he angles his body to cup Keith’s jaw.  
“Oh, baby. No, not like that,” he says, pressing his forehead to his to speak intimately. “This isn't you. This isn't us.”

Keith bites his lip, because he doesn't want to cry while the others are still awake.

“God, I’m really terrible at this sometimes,” Shiro murmurs, mostly to himself. He pulls back a little to tuck Keith’s hair behind his ear. “We should talk, hm?”

Keith just stands, and Shiro hurries to follow suit, taking his hand. Keith keeps his head down, hair masking his eyes and the set of his jaw while Shiro speaks across the fire.

“Hunk, could you keep an eye on Pidge?”

The moment he gets an affirmative, Keith starts walking, tugging gently on Shiro's hand. It's too cold to stay out in the open, so they head back to the Black Lion without exchanging a word. His heart hammers far too rapidly in his chest as he feels himself sink into worst-case scenarios. He tries to be rational, tries to turn on the logical side of his mind, but instead he finds himself scrubbing over every moment since the facility, attempting to pinpoint the moment where he must have ruined everything. Was it not defending him in the tunnels when Krolia told him to rest while she dealt with the enemies attacking them? Had he asked one too many times whether he was coping? Not enough? Or was it his failings as a leader that allowed them to be captured by pirates and the humiliation of having his hand cuffed to his belt? Keith stops still once they're inside, too consumed by his thoughts, so Shiro takes the lead. Keith lets him guide them to their shared room where there's no chance of being disturbed. Shiro moves to sit on the mattress, looking up to him with a sigh.

“I need to tell you something about after Allura moved me into this body,” he prefaces. He pats the bed beside him. “Come sit down.”

Keith hesitates, terrified that he's walking toward a moment finite and terminal. But then Shiro’s expression stutters into something broken and Keith suddenly comes to his senses. This isn't about him. It never was. He rushes to his side to take his hand and sit down next him.

“I'm listening,” he says quietly, lips brushing his knuckles. Up close, and finally paying attention, he can see the tremble in his shoulders, see where he's worried his lip raw.  
“I'm here. Please tell me.”

Shiro takes a breath, then attempts a smile that only looks a little shaky.  
“I'm not sure how to start,” he laughs nervously. He pauses to adjust his hold and thread their fingers. Keith waits patient through it all.  
“After I came back, after I heard your voice and I woke the second time… I didn't even notice it first. I was dreaming of life before the launch and when I opened my eyes, you were right there, like you've always been.”  
The smile starts to fall.  
“But after everyone came back, I started to notice this… silence, I guess. I didn't really understand at first. Not until I reached out to Black’s consciousness and just met nothing. I tried to push a little more but only found static. After being wrapped in his mind for so long, all of a sudden I was on my own. Whatever brought me back… it severed our bond.”

Keith feels his stomach lurch.  
“Maybe it's just a recovery thing. Perhaps it will come back once you heal?”

Shiro squeezes his hand gently as he shakes his head.  
“I think this is permanent, Keith.”

He doesn't know how he could possibly comfort him. Being a Paladin meant everything to Shiro, gave him purpose in a life that was meant to burn bright but fast. How could the bond he had worked so hard to foster simply disappear? It makes him feel rotten, like he has stolen that from him, even though Shiro had always made it clear that he wanted this for him. Keith hates that it always had to come at his expense. This is a step further though. Far more horrible than he could have even imagined.  
“What if I tried talking to the Lion? Maybe I can fix this. Allura must know something.”

“Keith, it's…” he swallows, and Keith can tell his next words are a lie, “it's okay.”  
He must know he doesn't sound convincing, because he closes his eyes with a sigh and tips his chin, staring at his lap.  
“I don't resent it. God knows I'd rather live in silence with you than in a loud world alone. But…”

_But…_

Keith braces.

“I can't stay. It's like there's a void, right here.” Keith lets Shiro pull their hands to his chest, and he can feel his pulse thrum under his knuckles. “I was so close to him for so long. I felt entwined… now it's like I've been ripped away and discarded.”  
He looks up and he's not crying, but his stormy eyes are like glass and Keith knows he has to act fast if he wants to keep it that way.  
“I don't want to leave. I know you have to be here. But I... can't.”

“Shiro…” Keith reaches to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over his lip. The idea of being apart kills him, and he tries not to think again of the uncertainty of the time they have left together. But he has never been one to tether him down, and he won't start now. “I understand. I don't want you to go either but if… if you need this then of course I support you. It's only temporary. We won't be flying the entire time and Earth isn't that far. We've made it through worse than this.”

One tear streaks free and Keith panics, terrified he's said the wrong thing, but then Shiro gives a choked laugh.  
“Yeah… just a Lion apart instead of whole different plane of existence.”  
He leans in to kiss him before Keith can protest the joke, and he doesn't pull back completely when he speaks again.  
“I'm so glad we're in this together. I don't understand most of what the universe has thrown at us, but this,” he smiles, kissing him sweetly once more, “this makes sense.”

Keith blushes furiously under it. He tries to buy himself time to recover his wits by returning the kisses with another. It starts slow and delicate, but then a large hand settles at his waist, and Keith leans into his space in earnest. The room stays silent, but for the soft sounds of a kiss that is equal parts tender and desperate. He feels fingers press into his flesh with a little more insistence when he tentatively touches the tip of his tongue to his top lip, and Shiro opens for him invitingly. Keith is cautious at the beginning, but the first slide of Shiro's tongue against his fills his head a warm, pleasant haze that makes him feel a little bolder.

“Will you stay here just for tonight?” he asks when they come apart, butterflies feeling more like bees in his belly.

Shiro nods urgently, and Keith can feel the warmth of his breath against his lips.  
“One last night,” he says, barely a whisper.

There’s something terribly final about the words that Keith immediately shelves. His hands rise to his paladin armour, running over the black insignia across his chest. He doesn't presume, glancing up to meet Shiro's eyes.  
“May I?”

Shiro swallows, nodding again, and Keith hooks careful fingers in under the chest plate to unlatch it. He follows his hand where it still rests on his waist, removing the bracer and the armour on his bicep, before easing the loosened plate over his head. Shiro tries to do the same for him, but it's a floundering job with one hand. Keith can see him getting frustrated when he gets nowhere fast.

“Lay back,” Keith urges quietly, kicking his boots off haphazardly to land with a thud on the floor. His thigh pieces follow quickly, but Shiro still sits unmoving beside him. He seems caught in his thoughts again, so Keith leans in to kiss him once more, and Shiro goes easily into the mattress when he presses a little of his weight into the gesture. When Keith can finally feel him relaxing under him, he presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and sits back, knees either side of Shiro's hips.

“You said said you wanted to take your time with me…” he says, brushing his fingers over his cheek.  
“Let me take my time with you.”

Shiro's breath comes out unsteady at that, but grey eyes fix onto him as if he's the only thing he sees. Keith shifts down his body and Shiro lifts his hips so he can remove his belt when he unfastens it at the front. The armour on his legs comes next, and Keith leans over the edge of the bed to set the pieces down with far more care than he afforded his own. Shiro's hand squeezes at his hip to urge him closer to sit a little higher on his belly. Shiro fumbles with his belt until it comes free around his hips while Keith shucks off the armour on his arms. He wets his lips, holding Shiro’s gaze as he loosens his own chest piece and pulls it over his head. Shiro's pupils are blown wide and Keith feels his core tense underneath him as if he wishes to sit up. Keith beats him to the punch though, leaning down and bracing his forearms either side of his head on the pillow to kiss him bruisingly. He greedily swallows up the soft sound that passes his lips, fingers reaching to run through moonlight hair. He wants to touch him with bare skin, and Shiro must feel the same, because warm fingers hook in to the neckline of his suit and pause. Keith knows he's looking for permission, so he pulls back to nod slightly and kiss at the underside of his jaw. With a soft hitch of breath, Shiro pulls the suit down at his shoulder and Keith shivers at the ghost of touch, at the cool air that sends goosebumps skittering over his skin. Keith lets him work it over his other shoulder too, not interrupting the slow progress as he peels the material off of his arms one at a time and down his body to bunch at his waist. Nothing about this needs to be hurried after all. Patience. Always patience.

An insistent hand at his jaw urges him back to meet Shiro's lips, and Keith is only all too willing. He grinds his hips into the body beneath him, unconsciously seeking friction, and they both break the kiss with a quiet groan. Keith takes the moment to just look at him, the soft flush that has already started to colour his cheeks, and swell in his bottom lip. Shiro blinks up slowly to him and he smiles all the way up to his eyes, squeezing his chest tight. Keith wants to bottle this moment, a heart full with a look of love that makes the rest of the universe melt away. He leans down to kiss him chastely, and Shiro responds by biting his lip. It draws a laugh from Keith as he pulls back and Shiro looks up to him with an expression that is both heated and full of adoration.

“Can I take this off?” Keith asks, plucking at the material over his chest.

“You don't need to ask,” Shiro says ruefully.

Keith shrugs with a little smile.  
“I like to,” he says softly. “It makes me happy knowing you're comfortable…”

Shiro reaches up to cup his cheek, brushing his thumb over his skin fondly.  
“Shouldn't that be my job?”

“I'm always comfortable with you,” Keith says without hesitation.

Shiro smiles with soft eyes.  
“The feeling's mutual, baby,” and Keith’s heard the endearment a hundred times by this stage, but it makes his heart beat just a little faster now. He still waits though and Shiro laughs.  
“Keith, yes. Please get me out of this thing. I feel like I'm suffocating in it right now. I need you to touch me.”

Keith’s breath gets lost somewhere on its way to his lungs, and suddenly there's haste in his fingers as he slips them under the suit. He forces himself to take it slow though as he works it down, kissing the skin revealed as he goes. When he presses his lips to the scar tissue under his collarbone, Shiro's breath hitches, but it sounds wrong and Keith glances up, concerned. Shiro has turned his head to the side, avoiding his eyes with lips set into a tight line. Keith sits up a little, reaching to touch his jaw and urge his gaze back to him.

“Hey,” Keith says, “are you okay?”

Shiro looks guilty.  
“Yeah, just… the scars.”

Oh… this is new. He's never been self conscious like this before.

“Do you want me to stop?” Keith asks in a whisper. His body rebels at the thought, but he'd sooner suffer the denial than continue this if it upsets Shiro. He shakes his head though and Keith feels a flood of relief for a moment before his concern bleeds through again.

“I just… You don't have to do that. I know they aren't terribly appealing. I didn't even earn these ones this time.”

Keith's expression goes stubborn.  
“That's not true Shiro. None of it. This body is still yours. There's nothing about you that's unappealing in the slightest. You're beautiful.”

Shiro tries to avoid his gaze again. Keith directs him back and he sighs under him.  
“I don't want you to feel like you have to include them.”

“Shiro…”  
This time, Keith frowns.  
“I don't love you because of them. I don't love you in spite of them. I just love _you_. Is that so hard to understand?”

Shiro's eyes go wide at that. His lips part and close several times, throat bobbing when he swallows.  
“Sometimes,” he admits, barely audible, and it shocks Keith still. “I don't know what I did to deserve such devotion.”

“Everything,” Keith says, desperate. “You did everything for me. You _are_ everything to me. Without you, I would have nothing. How can't you see you're the universe to me?”

Shiro's next breath sounds suspiciously like a hiccup, and Keith leans in to crowd him in a panic, peppering his face with soft kisses.  
“Please… Please don't cry. I just want you to feel good. I just want to make you happy. I'll avoid them if you want but you should know I love every part of you.”  
Keith feels a shaky laugh puff against his cheek.

“It's okay,” Shiro says after a pause. “I’m okay. You can keep going.”

Keith doesn't bother holding back his sigh of relief, kissing the mark on the bridge of his nose. Shiro doesn't tense this time when he returns to his collarbone, kissing a path over his chest and down his belly. Keith feels muscles quiver under his touch, and Shiro sucks in a hard breath when he kisses his hip bone. It's a different sound though, one of pleasure, and Shiro yelps when he stops there to nip at his skin. Keith pauses, turning his cheek to look up to him as he brushes his thumb over the crest of a rib.  
“Is this okay?”

“Yeah just… sensitive.”

Keith takes it as his cue to suck a shallow bruise above the bone, delighting in the little sounds Shiro makes.

“I can _feel_ you smirking there,” Shiro groans, squirming.

“Sensitive here?” Keith just asks innocently.

Shiro is blushing when he glances up at him, and Keith is glad to see no trace of the doubt he wore just moments before, pride sparking under his skin just a little.  
“It's just… I just realised this is the first time this body has done this. Everything feels new.”

The words make something powerful and possessive roar through Keith's veins, and suddenly he's eager, _hungry_ to make this perfect.  
“We won't rush,” he promises.  
“I said I'd take care of you.”

Keith knows he has to be wary of putting sex of a pedestal. He thought he had felt ready and willing years ago - or months, from Shiro’s perspective - but now he understands the reason Shiro wanted to wait. Travelling in space while battling the Galra isn't exactly conductive to perfect intimacy, but that's what Keith wants. Perfection. For Shiro. If that means waiting until they're back on Earth, then so be it. It will be worth the wait.

That doesn't mean he can't make him feel good now.

Shiro shimmies his hips to assist as Keith peels the suit down the rest of his body, dropping it off the end of the mattress. Shiro is half hard, despite their mishaps along the way, and at the sight of him beneath him, Keith’s suit suddenly feels far too tight around his hips.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he whispers as he hastily pulls the material off the rest of the way. There's no “despite" to it. The silver hair, the arm, the scars… They're all part of the sum that sets his heart on fire. Shiro reaches to try to take him in hand, but Keith gently deflects by capturing it and threading his fingers through his as he shifts to kiss his stomach again.  
“Said I was going to take care of you,” he murmurs to his skin.  
Shiro sighs sweetly when his lips travel further down and Keith lets go of his hand to wrap it around his cock. He presses a kiss to the head, and the gasp that follows is encouraging, but he still glances up uncertainly.

“I've, um… I've never done this before,” Keith admits, feeling his face heat.  
“So please tell if I'm doing it wrong. Tell me what feels good.”

Shiro seems guilty when Keith meets his eyes, but the arousal there is unfiltered, and clearly winning.  
“You don't have to Keith. I don't expect—”

“I want to,” he cuts in, and he knows it sounds embarrassingly earnest. But the way Shiro twitches in response though tells him his ardour is anything but a turn off.

“Okay… okay baby. Just go slow. Don't push yourself.”

Keith lowers himself back down, kissing him again and tasting his skin. He's not sure what he's expecting, but the salted sweetness is a pleasant surprise, bolstering him through the first road block of his nerves. He strokes him slowly once, twice, watching Shiro's teeth dig into his lip, before steeling himself and taking him into his mouth, feeling the weight and size of him on his tongue. Despite Shiro’s warning, he goes too fast, too soon, trying to swallow him down a little further. He barely contains the urge to gag when Shiro hits the back of his throat, pulling off quickly with watering eyes.

“Easy baby,” Shiro soothes, voice a little strained. “It’s not a race. We don't have to—”

Keith plants a hand on his chest when he tries to sit up, trying to chase away the concerned look on his face by stroking his length again. Shiro fights for a moment, before he lets out a muffled sound and presses his head back into the pillow. Taking a determined breath, Keith closes his lips around him again, not missing the soft curse whispered to the ceiling. This time, he rests his forearm on Shiro’s thigh and closes his fist around the base of his cock, careful not to take more of him than he can manage. His other palm slides to Shiro's belly, and Keith can feel his pulse thundering under his hand. He presses his tongue against a thick vein on the underside, making mental notes every time Shiro's breath leaves his lungs jagged and uneven. When Keith had set his mind on this, it had been purely focused on Shiro's pleasure, but he thinks maybe he might be enjoying this too, after the initial false start. Coaxing soft sounds out of him is an odd kind of power trip, and the act itself is hardly as unsavoury as he imagined. He hollows his cheeks on the next drag up and Shiro hisses.

“Little less pressure baby,” he urges, and Keith quickly adjusts with his instruction.  
“Yeah, like that. That's— hah, that's good. God…”

Keith hums around him at the praise, and Shiro’s hips stutter for a brief moment, as if struggling to keep himself still. Experimentally, he rolls his tongue over the head. The reaction is instantaneous. The muscles under his hand on Shiro’s belly tense and Shiro whimpers.

“K-Keith…”

Keith feels his own whimper try to fight its way out, but he refuses to give up his rhythm, concentrating on relaxing enough to take him down a little further. He grinds his hips unconsciously into the mattress, bringing his attention to his own neglected arousal, and so he shoves the hand resting on Shiro's stomach between himself and the sheets, palming himself to find some relief. It means he can't stop Shiro though when he pushes himself up into a half-seated position. He hears him say something distantly, but blood is rushing through his ears, narrowing his focus. It's not until gentle fingers pull at his hair that Keith looks up, wide eyed and surprised, coming off with a soft _pop_ of his lips. Shiro looks wrecked, flushed and panting, sweat beading at his temples.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks hoarsely, and Shiro gives a breathless sort of laugh.

“God, no. You were wonderful. I'm just,” he swallows, “I'm really close. I just thought, for your first time, it would be inconsiderate not to warn you.”

Keith hesitates at that, torn between his curiosity and his reservations. Shiro just smiles understandingly.

“C’mere.”

He taps his thigh, and Keith scrambles to sit up and crawl into his lap. He doesn’t understand why Shiro would want to kiss him after that, but he seeks him out hungrily, and laughs softly when he pulls him down too fast with the clack of teeth. When Shiro starts stroking the two of them together, Keith keens pathetically, wrapping his arms around Shiro's shoulders and burying his face into his neck. Shiro’s left hand is a little clumsy, less sure than his memory of the last time, but it doesn’t leave Keith any less affected. There's an edge of unpredictability to his ministrations that quickly tightens the coil low in his core. Shiro comes first, but the breathy sound of his name in his ear sends him over the edge not far behind.

They sit there for a moment, chests heaving and body heat mingling, and Keith isn't even aware he's trembling until Shiro's arm wraps around his waist to pull him closer. Shiro turns his face to try to nose gently into his hair.

“Hey. Kiss me.”

Keith doesn't know how he can be so coherent when his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and the world around them swims in soft focus. Still, he blinks up to Shiro, glancing to his lips and meeting them with a kiss that lacks any semblance of finesse. Shiro chuckles quietly, guiding him into something a little more elegant, and Keith hums his happy pleasure.

“I love you like this,” Shiro murmurs softly. “So pliant and blissed out… I thought the first time was maybe a once off, but here you are again.” He kisses him again.  
“I'm going to think of holding you like you are now when I go to sleep. Think about the next time I'll get to have you like this.”

Keith can barely focus on the words, but the soft timbre of his voice warms him as he's lowered down onto the mattress.

“I love you, Keith.”

That he hears with full clarity.

“I love you too.”

* * *

When they find Kolivan in the ruins and he takes down Haggar’s druid, Krolia makes the right choice to stay for the Blades. Suddenly it’s just him and Kosmo together in Black, alone. The Lion has always felt noticeably bigger than Red, but now it feels terribly vast, far too quiet and empty.

Kosmo whines a question onto his lap and Keith absently strokes between his ears. The drills do a little to ease the tension that builds in his isolation. Hearing the others voices, seeing their faces... it's always a timely reminder that he isn't really travelling alone. Sometimes he even gets moments where he can talk to Shiro between the exercises, checking in on his pain and comfort, and hearing how terrible he is at Pidge’s video games. They're barely a week off of the planet where Macidus had lured them, but Keith already feels desperate for their next stop.

He should be long asleep, as all the others are, but the thought of lying alone in that bed makes him feel nauseous. He already feels forlorn without enduring the cruelty of having nothing to occupy him but his thoughts. Right now, he couldn't sleep if he tried.

It's almost as if someone reads his mind, because his console flickers to life and startles him. Shiro’s face, smoothed by sleep, smiles tiredly to him. Keith reaches out to the screen on instinct.

“ _Hey you_ ,” Shiro’s voice comes softly, as if wary of waking his companion.  
“ _I had a feeling you were up. Black looked a little too active. You should sleep._ ”

Keith almost blurts it right there. Almost begs him to come back so he can chase away this irrational sense of abandonment that has crept back into his bones after Krolia’s departure. Instead he swallows, but the truth still claws itself out in a single word.

“Can’t.”

And Shiro sighs softly.  
“ _Try. It's important that you stick to a routine. Your sanity will thank you._ ”

Keith purses his lips, wondering if it's a little late for that. He already feels needy. Already feels the rising burn of panic every time he thinks of Krolia or Kolivan. Every time his footsteps echo back at him in the dark. Every time he forgets and calls out with no answer.

“ _Baby?_ ”

The concerned lilt of Shiro’s voice drags him back, and Keith fights a guilty grimace.  
“Sorry. You're right. I guess I am tired. I'll go to sleep now.”

“ _Are you sure you're okay?_ ”

“Yes. Yes, fine. Nothing to report over here. Kosmo is really enjoying having three quarters of the bed to himself. I'm sure he's going to be pretty happy when I get up.”

Shiro doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't argue.

“ _Okay, Keith. Sleep well._ ”

Keith almost chokes on the lump in his throat that wants to burst forth in a plea to spend just one night back on Black again to keep his demons at bay.

“You too, Shiro.”

He turns off the feed before he can give in.

* * *

The storm comes and they lose the Lions. They lose Romelle and Coran. He loses Kosmo. He loses Shiro. Again.

Keith knows he's going mad first, long before the others realise. Drifting in the vastness of space in just his suit, he feels fragile, delicate. But far less like bruised rose petals and a lot more like a bomb. Shiro's form swims in front of him a dozen times before he can't blink him away any more. There's only so much the suits can do to keep them functional and exposure to the radiation in space is just another danger that must be reaching critical levels. It's already messing with his perception of reality. His visor beeps.

“Keith here.”

His body barely moves, but his heart races a mile a minute, thinking about Shiro trapped in stasis on the Green Lion. His mind is an enemy, running over what he did wrong, the bad calls he made, his failings as a leader. He truly thought he had changed enough, that he was ready. But now…

 _“You're still growing,”_ Shiro’s floating form says kindly. Keith can almost feel the ghost of warmth when he drifts like sand on the wind to appear right in front of him. _“Do you think I never had times where I questioned every choice I made in the Black Lion? We all feel like imposters sometimes.”_

His visor beeps.

“Keith here...”

He doesn't know how much time passes. All he knows is he's never felt exhaustion like this, never known loneliness like this. Why does he always end up lost and alone?

 _“You're not alone,”_ Shiro reminds him. _“You have your team here with you. Keep each other alive and you'll figure a way out of this. You always do.”_

In a strange way, it's the only thing that keeps him sane for the longest time. But eventually Shiro's eyes flicker, his hair goes dark and cold metal fingers wrap around his throat. He doesn't struggle against it, and Shiro almost seems pitying behind the sneer.

 _“Just let go, Keith,”_ he whispers, after he tries to attack the nothingness around them.  
His voice is far more seductive than Keith remembers. Even like this, he’s still beautiful. His words are a temptation he longs to drown in.  
_“You don't have to fight anymore…”_

His helmet beeps, and he stares unblinkingly into lilac pupils as he has for hours now.

“Keith, shouldn't we sound off?” Lance asks behind him.

Shiro fades, but the light of his eyes burns starbursts into his vision.

“What's the point?”

They argue, all five of them. It's horrid. And it's all his fault, he knows. He can imagine Shiro's disapproval, but he can't stop the venom that spews forth. Hunk is the only thing that saves them in the end. From the beast, and from themselves. Shiro's false form vanishes as they band together to take the creature down.

When the Lions find them and they come together as Voltron, Keith can feel something new in their formation. Something stronger and unbreakable. It brings Shiro and Kosmo back. It leads them home.

* * *

Keith should have known it would never be so simple though. Barely one moment of relief after crawling out of despair, and they're all tossed in the pit again. They aren't the first ones back.

Sendak has that pleasure.

Keith sees the look on Shiro's face when they disembark the Lions on Titan. He wants nothing more than talk to him, to tell him it's okay. To tell him it's not his fault. It's written so plainly on his face the fear and regret for letting Sendak slip out of their grasp in those early days. Keith would gladly spend their entire trip back to Earth whispering soft reassurances and mapping out their plan to take him down once and for all… But he is the only one who knows how to fly the Galra fighter. He doesn't have the luxury of time, not even for Shiro. It will have to come later.

The chance doesn't come after they crash to Earth and fight their way through Plaht City. Nor when they cram into two Garrison-issue military vehicles and find themselves separated again. It's not until well after the family reunions and apologies and old familiar faces that Keith finally gets to be next to him again. But Shiro comes to into the debriefing looking rigid and broken, and Keith can tell immediately that he's been crying. It makes him want to leap to his feet and drag him away. To say to hell with the meeting and figure out who or what has upset Shiro this much. He walks over stiffly and all but falls into the chair on his right. Keith takes his hand to draw his attention, but Shiro just shakes his head ever so slightly. He squeezes back before letting go and placing his hand on the table, where Keith won't chase it. It turns his stomach to lead until Shiro manages a small smile.

“Good to see you back in uniform.”

It's said soft, so no one else will hear, but Keith still feels his skin spike hot under his collar.

“Orange looks good on no one,” he grumbles.  
“But you,” and he takes a moment to run his eyes appreciatively over the officer’s jacket, bringing back memories from a lifetime ago, “you look great.”

Shiro's smile flickers and falters, and he turns his attention resolutely to Sam. Keith does his best to focus too, despite his worries. There’s so much more that needs his attention, from the Garrison’s increasingly stressed position, to Hunk’s fears for his family and how they’ll get back to Lions. It all weighs heavily on his mind as they take the elevator together to the hangar floor, laying eyes on Atlas for the first time and confronting Admiral Sanda and her position on their Lions. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth, setting his nerves further on edge.

“You should check up on Hunk,” Shiro says when they're dismissed, eyes on the door where the Yellow Paladin has fled. Keith follows his gaze, torn. As leader, he knows he needs to go after him. But he has other loyalties too, and the look on Shiro’s face continues to twist his insides in knots.  
“I'm going to view the bridge with Sam and Coran. Maybe you can join us after?”

Keith hesitates, but it's clear the decision has been made. Shiro will have to wait. He nods, but catches his hand between them as subtly as he can.

“We’ll talk later,” he murmurs, so Shiro knows he hasn't overlooked the fact that something is bothering him. “I've missed you…”

Shiro swallows, eyes cast down.  
“I've missed you too.”  
He looks exhausted.  
“Later…” he confirms.

* * *

Hunk is a far better person than him, because he forgives and forgets the horrible words Keith had in space to open up immediately. Keith’s truly does ache for him. He knows his notions of family are distorted at best, but if anything ever happened to Krolia, he would turn the universe upside down in an instant to save her. There's a kinship between them now, stronger than it's ever been - and not just because of the bear hug Hunk wraps him in when Keith confesses his admiration of his spirit. When Hunk tells him he's getting his family back, his response comes naturally.

“Not without me.”

They pick up Griffin and Veronica along the way, and Keith knows he's grateful for their help, but he still finds himself prickling in the MFE leader’s presence. Old habits die hard, it seems. They'll have to address it properly later if they want to fight this war together, but for now Keith buries old grudges and focuses on Hunk’s mission.

It's nightfall long before they return, heartsore but determined. They've hit a roadblock in getting Hunk’s family safely back to the Garrison, but Keith knows Hunk won't give up. Nor will he. Shiro meets them in a half-run as they leave the hangar, looking both stricken and relieved. Keith gulps, suddenly feeling guilty, as Shiro reaches him to hold the back of his head and rest his forehead to his. Hunk pretends not to see.

“I didn't know where you went,” Shiro whispers, an admission of fear that wrings his heart. “I waited at the Atlas but you…”

“I'm sorry,” Keith says quietly, hands rising to rest on Shiro’s hips. “It couldn't wait. But I'm here. I’m not going to disappear that easily.”

It's the wrong thing to say somehow, because Shiro's expression twists, but before Keith can chase it, Griffin and Veronica join them in the hall, and Shiro quickly pulls away.

“Officer Shirogane,” Griffin addresses with a hasty salute as Veronica follows suit. He seems more concerned about the fact they've been caught sneaking in rather than whatever moment they've walked in on.  
“I know we've broken curfew, but—"

“It's fine,” Shiro abates. “I'm not about to write you up. I appreciate that the Paladins and MFEs are working together already. But perhaps next time you could _all_ inform the Garrison before you leave the area.”

“Y-yes sir.”

“Veronica, your family has been asking after you. Lance has been set up in Wing C, dorm 202. They'll be there with him.”

“Thank you sir.”

“Cadet Griffin, you can take Hunk where he'll be sleeping. 204 in Wing C. Make sure you both get something to eat on the way through. And Hunk?” Shiro offers him a smile. “We’ll have your family back before this is over, I'm sure of it.”

Hunk impresses Keith all over again by smiling back.  
“Thanks Shiro.”

When it's just the two of them left in the hallway, Shiro deflates in front of him, and Keith hears alarm bells when his smile falls away. He watches him struggle to find the words he wants to say, before he seems to suspend whatever thoughts he has.

“Allura found a suitable prosthetic for me today,” he finally says, and it's just about the last thing Keith expects.

“That's great Shiro,” he rushes out, before he reins himself back in. “I mean, as long as you're happy with it?”

Shiro concentrates far too hard on a spot on the wall over Keith’s shoulder.  
“Yeah, it's… different. Bigger than the last one. Sam built it himself, using Altean technology. There were some problems with locating an appropriate power source, but Allura seems to have a solution. They'll get rid of this thing and graft a new piece to my shoulder.”  
He reaches up to touch the large pauldron fused to him.  
“I'm going to have the surgery in the morning.”

Keith bites back a knee-jerk reaction to comment on his haste. It shouldn't be a surprise. Time isn't a luxury they have, now more than ever. And the sooner Shiro feels empowered to be a part of this resistance, the better. Still, he worries.  
“You should rest then. I'm sorry I kept you up.”

“About that,” Shiro says quietly, and Keith feels his nerves stand on edge, “the Garrison allocated us a room each, and I think… I think it might be best if we both used them. To make sure we stay focused.”

Keith tries not to freeze.  
“You… would like us to sleep apart?” he confirms.  
Despite his efforts, the words sound needy. He scolds himself silently, because it isn't Shiro's job to nurse him at night just because he’s available now. To expect as much would be greedy. Shiro doesn't meet his eyes. So he soldiers on, for both their sakes.  
“If you think that's best.”

“... I'll show you to your dorm.”

* * *

Keith tosses and turns. It's enough to make Kosmo whine in protest and shift to lay by his feet. Keith can't help it though. He can't stop thinking about Shiro. About his odd behaviour and the look on his face. With a sickening jolt, he has a midnight revelation that it all started long before Allura would have had the chance to discuss his arm. There was something more Shiro hadn't told him, and he had just let it fall by the wayside. He rolls onto his back and Kosmo officially quits, disappearing in a flash.

Keith doesn't blame the wolf - neither of them have slept a wink thanks to his restlessness - so it's a surprise when he returns not half a minute later, whimpering and nudging his hand.  
“What is it boy?” he asks, sitting up.

The wolf stares at him, and Keith has a moment of understanding, clutching his fur and holding his breath as the room around them vanishes. Keith finds himself sitting on another bed, a little more spacious, even if it is occupied.

“Keith?”  
Shiro's voice is hoarse, but it lacks an edge of sleep. Rest hasn't found him either.

“I know you wanted to sleep apart, and I'll go back, I promise, but first—"

Before he can finish, Shiro drags him down beside him, curling around him.

“W-woah, hey. It's okay, I'm—"  
He manages to free his limbs to reach up and hold Shiro’s face, assessing him with concern as he dodges his gaze.  
“Something happened, didn't it? Just before the debrief.”  
He swallows as Shiro’s breath shudders, shifting up the mattress and wrapping his arms around him to cradle his head to his chest.  
“I know you didn't want to talk about it then. We don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to, but Shiro… You know I'll listen, right? Whatever you need, I'm here.”

Shiro buries into Keith’s chest, and for a moment, he thinks he won't say anything at all, but then his voice comes, quiet and broken, with the force of freight train behind it.

“Adam died.”

Keith’s sure Shiro can hear the stumble of his heart in his ribcage.

“He was in the first wave of pilots sent out to respond to Sendak’s attack on the Garrison.”  
Hot tears start to soak through his shirt as Shiro's voice hitches.  
“All of this is my fault. If I hadn't—"

“Stop that,” Keith growls, tightening his grip. “Sendak shouldn't have survived being shot into space. You know that. I know that. Haggar must have had a hand in it. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Keith…”

“Did you hear that the Holts and Allura managed to access Sendak's memories from the Castle's data files?” he interrupts. “ _You_ did that. You're the only reason we have those in the first place. Sendak or _someone_ would probably be here no matter what. But because of you, we have an edge. A spark of hope.”  
Shiro's shoulders start to shake, and Keith holds him through it, voice softening.  
“I'm so sorry about Adam.”

“He didn't want me to go.” And it spills forth with a loud sob, bracing and visceral. “I keep thinking… maybe if I hadn't, he… he would still…”

“Shiro, if you didn't go to Kerberos, a lot of things wouldn't have happened,” Keith murmurs into his hair.  
“You wouldn't have been captured. You wouldn't have been tortured. Maybe I would have graduated… But Zarkon would have found the Blue Lion before us. Matt almost certainly would have died. Allura and Coran might have never woken up. Arus would have been destroyed. The Balmerans, the Olkari… the whole universe…”  
Keith probably wouldn't have this either. This love and intimacy that helps him feel whole. He knows it would be selfish to say as much though, so he pauses to kiss the top of his head instead.  
“I can’t promise you Adam’s fate would have changed, but I wholeheartedly believe we would have lost far more if you stayed. Maybe none of us would be here at all.”

There's silence for a moment, save for Shiro’s uneven breathing. He gathers himself enough to speak, and when he does, his voice is barely a croak.  
“I wish our last words to each other had been… They weren't horrible or hateful or even loud. I just wish they had been better. Kinder.”

Keith sighs softly.  
“I don't know what happened between you two at the end, and it's not my place to ask, but you loved each other. That doesn't go away just because the two of you separated.”  
He grimaces. The words don’t come easily. Acknowledging he hasn't always had Shiro’s heart twists something green and uncomfortably selfish in him that he'd rather not examine. And when it comes to relationships, Keith is far from an expert. But he thinks of the conversation he had with Krolia in the Abyss, about the day his father died, and knows he can speak sincerely.  
“We all have last words we regret. We can't let them sour the times that came before. I'm sure both of your lives have been better for knowing each other, and I don't think he would have blamed you for this. Not even for a second.”

Silence reigns again for a moment, before Shiro turns his head up to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. He manages a shaky smile.  
“When did you get so wise, hm?”

“Two years on the back of a space whale allows for a lot of reflection,” he replies with false solemnity. Shiro laughs quietly and Keith feels his chest grow lighter. Gently, he loosens his hold, running fingers along his spine.  
“Let me know when you're okay. I'll get Kosmo to take me back to my room so you can sleep.”

But Shiro shakes his head. He stretches up, missing his mark to press a kiss to the underside of his chin. Keith is only all to willing to assist, bowing his head to capture his lips properly.

“Stay,” Shiro says, begs. “Please.”  
This close, Keith can feel the heat of his words on his lips.  
“I'm terrified of losing you too.”

Keith kisses him once more, with feeling.  
“You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I mean it Keith,” and the waver of his voice grips Keith's own throat. “If anything happened to you… I don't know what I'd do.”

Keith swallows. Because he knows he can't make wild promises. They're in the middle of a galactic war. The stakes have always been high. Right now, they seem almost insurmountable. And they've both already had far too many close calls to believe words of reassurance of their own fates as anything more than lip service. So he doesn't lie.

“With you here, we've all got the best chance of making it through this,” he says, heartfelt. “I feel ready with you by my side.”

Shiro shifts, and Keith takes the cue, tightening his hold to pull him to his chest as he rolls onto his back. It takes the pressure off of Shiro’s shoulder, lying chest to chest like this, with the remainder of the prosthetic wedged gently between Keith's bicep and ribs. Keith’s fingers drift to the metal. Maybe after tomorrow, it won't be a problem any more. Shiro shudders an exhale into his sternum and Keith pauses.

“You know… it seems silly to say this now, so close to your surgery, but I don't think I ever asked what you can feel here since…”

“Since our fight?” Shiro finishes for him.

“Mm.”  
It's still strange to refer to it as such. Keith often finds he divorces himself from the moment. It was never Shiro who was fighting after all. It's almost easier to disassociate and pretend it was all some wild, vivid dream... nightmare. A shared cinematic played in purple wash and overwhelming sound.  
“I know you still have some of the pain. What about sensation?”

Shiro turns his head to watch where Keith traces over the curve of the pauldron.  
“It's… numb. Only half of what I could feel before,” he murmurs. “There's pressure. But it's kinda like there's a delay on the message. No temperature though. I can't feel any warmth in your fingertips at all.”

Keith draws circles on the metal a moment, before shifting to run his fingers over his shoulder and down his spine. Shiro's breath comes out a little more even against his skin.  
“I've kept you up too long. You should sleep.”

Keith isn't entirely sure he does, but he falls silent after that and doesn't let go all night.

* * *

The smile Shiro gives the medical officers in the morning is only a mask. Keith knows he's sick with nerves. He had sensed it when Shiro had been reluctant to rise. Felt it in the way he clinged to him when Kosmo teleported him back with his Garrison uniform. Seen it in the shake of his hand when he brushed his teeth. And Keith thinks he can understand. His body’s history with alien technology is anything but positive, and it requires a lot of trust - of Allura, of Sam, of the surgeons - to hand himself over willingly like this.

It works in two stages. Keith is there when Shiro goes under for the removal of what remains of Haggar’s experiment. He's there when wakes with the new sleek attachment, groggy and disoriented. For the first hour, the lingering anaesthesia seems to distress him, easing only when Keith is in sight, so the staff let him sit by his bedside to hold his hand until his head clears. Keith watches them wheel in the prosthetic while Shiro naps shallowly. Shiro’s right - it's far larger than his last model. But it’s not fully formed either, stopping short at the elbow. He realises it mustn't connect directly to the shoulder port when no secondary piece arrives. It’s curious, but a little concerning; ambitious technology for Earth scientists, even ones as brilliant as Samuel Holt. The other Paladins arrive not long after he's ushered out of the room again, standing around him by the window. Hunk rests a hand briefly on his shoulder. It's enough to make him relax, if only a little.

Shiro stays awake for this part. He has to be, so they can determine whether the power source and connection are successful. For a wondrous moment, Keith watches the arm float and flex. It's truly a marvel and a triumph for Earth medicine. But then it sours. The power source fails and an expression of pure agony crosses Shiro’s face as the prosthetic goes rogue. Keith feels his blood drain as he screams, and suddenly he finds himself standing in the indigo glow of the cloning facility again, watching Shiro fall to his knees as his arm transforms and crackles with deadly energy. It leaves him rooted to the spot, terrified.

He doesn't even see Allura run, only snapping out of his bleeding vision when she's suddenly on the other side of the glass, tackling the prosthetic to the ground. Whatever she does with the crystal from her crown calms the struggle and Shiro’s vitals stablise. It spurs him back into action, and the others follow as he rushes into the surgery. Keith stands, wide-eyed and lost for words, at the foot of his bed as Shiro’s blinks and focuses.

“Wh-what happened?” he asks. “I feel strange. I feel… great.”

It won't do to cry in front of everyone, so Keith swallows down the lump in his throat. His relief is all-consuming and suddenly he feels exhausted now that the weight has been lifted.

“We’ll keep you here a little longer for observation,” Sam says kindly.  
“But by all accounts, thanks to a little intervention,” he smiles to Allura, “it would seem the operation has been a complete success. We won't be so lucky with crown crystals next time though, so we have a lot of work to do on our end. For now though, rest. Admiral Sanda is aware you won't be joining today's briefings.”

Shiro flexes his new fingers with a look of wonder.  
“No… I'll be there. Once you're happy to discharge me, I'll join the Paladins. I feel up to it.”

Sam pauses, but there's a fond look in his eyes.  
“Katie, why don't you see what can be done to stall this morning's meeting another half hour or so?”

“On it Dad,” she grins. “Lance, Hunk, gonna need your help.”

“Is this going to get me expelled from the Garrison?” Lance asks warily. It's a reasonable question. Keith doesn't dare ask what Pidge has in mind.

Hunk slaps a hand down on his shoulder.  
“Pretty sure if they were going to expel us, it would be for missing class for the last four years.”

“You have a point…”

“Wasting time guys. C'mon!”

Keith thinks Sam should look a little more concerned as they watch them go.  
“Princess Allura,” he addresses instead, drawing her attention back. “May I trouble you for a moment of your time to speak with our scientists? I would like to understand what happened here today a little better.”

Allura smiles.  
“Of course. Lead the way.”

It leaves Keith alone with Shiro and one of the doctors who continues to make notes on the monitor recording his vitals. He swallows hard, eyes on the arm. Shiro's voice breaks him out of his stupor.

“Come here…”

His feet obey on instinct, bringing him to Shiro’s left side even as he continues to stare at the arm. A human hand slides around his hips, drawing him in to sit down beside him.

“I want you to be the first thing I touch. Is that okay?”

Keith's gaze snaps up to Shiro's. A patient, easy smile waits for him there. He can't find his voice, and so he nods. His heart pounds as he hears the soft _whir_ of the arm moving, but his eyes stay on Shiro’s, fluttering in quiet surprise when something warm and solid brushes his cheek. Shiro lets out a soft sound, like a disbelieving laugh, and it goads Keith into leaning into the touch.

“Incredible,” Shiro murmurs, white alloy fingers tracing over his jaw, his lips, the scar on his cheek.

“What can you feel?” Keith asks as Shiro tucks his hair behind his ear.

“Everything,” he smiles. “The texture of your skin. The warmth. I can feel every strand of hair between my fingers.” His fingertips slide down the column of his neck, entranced. “I can feel your pulse… your heart’s racing.”  
He frowns, glancing up from his hand.  
“Keith…”

But he doesn't let him finish the thought. Wrapping a hand as best he can around his wrist, Keith drags it back to lay the palm flat against his cheek. It startles him a little, feeling just how much of his face it covers, warming him from jaw to temple with fingers curling into his hair. He presses his own palm to the back of Shiro's hand, and it feels small against the prosthetic. It must surprise Shiro, because his breath hitches and he stops still for a moment when Keith nuzzles into his palm. The sound of the medical officer clearing her throat makes them both jump and pull apart.

“I'm just going to… Officer Holt,” she mumbles, before hastily departing.

Keith feels his face grow warm, but Shiro just laughs, taking his hand to draw his attention back. It works. Keith can't help but stare at how the prosthetic envelopes him so easily.

“You have really good control over it already,” he says quietly.  
“When it didn't take at first, I thought they were going to have to put you under again to get rid of it. It looked like torture…”  
He runs his eyes over the polished gleam of his forearm, past the space where his bicep used to be, up to the soft blue glow emitting from the port on his shoulder.  
“How's the pain now?” he asks uncertainly.

Shiro's smile tells him he need not fear the answer.

“Gone.”

* * *

Whatever Pidge orchestrates works, and Shiro’s takes his seat beside him in the war room with time to spare. He and Veronica plot their next move to infiltrate Base One and ascertain the intricacies of Sendak’s plans. Keith glances across the table as their teams are announced, but Griffin doesn't betray any kind of reaction.  If he’s miffed about the prospect of working together again, he isn't about to let everyone know. When they're dismissed, Keith pauses to catch the MFE leader’s arm as he goes to leave.

“Hey. About yesterday… Thanks.”

He watches as he glances up hastily, eyes falling on the superior officers.  
“We can talk about it later,” he mutters, and Keith has to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“I'd really rather we didn't,” he insists.  
Griffin's brow furrows and Keith sighs, letting go.  
“Look, you and I… I know we don't have the best history. We weren't friends in even the loosest sense at school or in the Garrison. But I respect you. As a teammate and a leader. And I want to clear the air between us before we leave for the base.”

He tries not to prickle at the surprise on his face, but Griffin doesn't interrupt, and for that he's grateful.

“So, I'm…”  
Oh, this is actually far harder than he thought it would be. The words get stuck in his throat and Keith grits his teeth to try to force them out.  
“I'm sorry. For punching you when we were kids.”

Griffin’s shoulders rise to his ears and he winces, as if the apology is like another blow.  
“Yeah, well… Bringing your parents into it when I knew you were an orphan was a jerk move. I tried to get a rise out of you and got a bit more than I expected. It was probably what I deserved though. I'm sorry too.”

Keith eases and feels a weight lift.  
“Forgiven,” he says quietly, and he sees Griffin relax at the word. “We were young. We were both stupid. But it doesn't matter now.”

“Now all that matters is protecting our home.”

“Right,” Keith nods. “I'm glad Earth has had your team to defend it these last few years. Standing firm against Sendak’s forces couldn't have been easy. You're a good leader.”

Griffin stares at him a moment, calculating.  
“You've changed,” he finally says, and there's an edge of something else to it. Keith tries to brush it off.

“You haven't,” he responds flatly.  
The instant twist of Griffin’s expression to offence makes him snort.  
“Still a stickler for the rules. Still a major kiss ass to superiors.”

“You're still an asshole.”

And Keith laughs at that.  
“Yeah… guess I am.”

Griffin’s shoulders relax with the words and his snarl fades.  
“I've got your back,” he mutters, and he seems almost embarrassed by it.

“I know. I've got yours too.”  
He offers his hand, and Griffin eyes it for a moment before gripping firmly and nodding.

When he turns away to join the other MFEs, Keith catches Shiro watching him, smiling. He can’t help it - he smiles back, chest lighter and mind a little clearer. Finally, he feels ready for to stand tall with the last of Earth’s resistance.

* * *

Shiro is the first to greet them when they return to the Garrison from Base One. He takes in the troubled looks with a frown, eyes widening when Keith mutters two words only: “zaiforge cannons.”

With a kind, but firm voice, he gives the teams orders eat and clean up before their debrief in forty-five, but Keith knows to hang back with him as the others roll out. Shiro extends his hand, and Keith takes it tightly, threading his fingers between his.

“Come with me,” he says softly, and Keith nods. Kosmo nudges at his hip, and with a flash, he takes them back to Shiro’s officer quarters. Shiro doesn't scold when the wolf shoots to the bedroom, presumably to jump and curl up on the mattress as if he owns the place.  
“There's food waiting for you on the bench,” he says as he releases him. Keith’s heart warms at the thought that he had planned on taking him back here, regardless of the mission’s outcome. “I'll run you a bath while you eat.”

But his appetite has vanished. The revelation of Sendak’s plan ties his stomach in knots and the thought of dinner is unappealing. Shiro notices his hesitation and returns to him with a sigh.  
“Eat,” he insists, kissing his forehead. “It’s important. You've had a long day and I need you to focus a little longer until after this debrief. You can't do that on an empty stomach.”

Keith comes back to himself at that. He still has a job to do. Toying with despair is not an option.  
“You're right,” he murmurs, placing his helmet down. “Sorry. I'll be quick.”

He's not expecting much when he moves to crack open the container on the bench. The meal inside - meatloaf, maybe - looks unpalatable at best, downright deadly at worst. But with rations the way they are, Keith has no desire to complain. What he shoves in his mouth is far too salty to be healthy over a sustained period, but he's had worse, and he clears it quickly, moving to the sink as Shiro reappears.

“Leave it,” he urges, before Keith can turn on the tap.  
“Come freshen up first. We don't have long.”

Keith doesn't argue, moving over to him, but he grasps the front of his jacket before he can pass by.  
“Join me?” he asks quietly.

Shiro’s eyes soften.  
“I shouldn't,” he says, depositing a kiss on the end of his nose, “but okay. Let me hang this uniform up first. I'll be there in a sec.”

Keith hums his acknowledgement quietly, stepping into the bathroom as he sheds his armour. By the time Shiro returns, he already has one foot in the tub, sinking into the water with an appreciative groan.

“Good?” Shiro asks, dropping his undershirt on top of the piled Paladin armour.

“If I knew Officers got bathtubs, I _definitely_ wouldn't have gotten myself kicked out of this place.”  
He hears Shiro chuckle as he closes his eyes and tilts his head back into the water.  
“I don't remember the last time I did this.”

He opens his eyes again when the water displaces around him, taking in the view without shame. Shiro notices, but Keith notices the colour dusting his cheeks, made stark by his hair. For a moment, he shoves aside his mounting fears of what tomorrow brings to simply sit in this moment with him. Not caring for the precarious water level, he pushes himself forward into the bracket of Shiro’s thighs, grinning when he makes a sound of lament as water spills over the sides.

“This isn't really big enough for the two of us,” Shiro concedes, but he wraps an arm loosely around his waist nevertheless. The prosthetic hovers a little further away than truly needed, well out of the splash zone.

“Cosy,” Keith says, resting his chin on his chest to look up at him.

“Cramped,” Shiro returns flatly.

Keith responds by nuzzling into him until he laughs and squeezes him tighter. He lets silence fall between them as he stills, basking in the warmth of the water and the way steam curls up from the surface around his face. He feels himself gently rise and fall with every breath Shiro takes, feels the thump of his pulse under his cheek, amplified by the heat around them. Water trickles quiet and delicate from his fingertips as he raises his hand to absently trace a small, jagged scar that sits at eye level on his chest. Shiro says nothing, but his heart remains steady in his ear. Keith takes it as permission to pause and stretch to press a soft kiss there. Shiro’s ribs stutter minutely, but he doesn't intervene, and Keith seizes the liberties afforded to him to drag lips over wet skin to settle a little higher, close to his collarbone. He hears the hitch in his breath this time, glancing up to see Shiro watching him.

“Keith…” he warns, lips tight.

And there's an edge to it that achieves the exact opposite of its intended purpose. Not caring for the water that drips on the tiles, Keith braces himself with hands on both sides of the tub and lifts himself out of the water just enough to capture that bottom lip between his teeth. Despite the attempted protest, Shiro chases after him, though he's a little more tender, a little more measured than Keith. Fingers press into the gaps of his ribs on instinct, and it’s the switch that sets his pulse into immediate overdrive. Without warning, he pushes himself up entirely, and Shiro grumbles his half-hearted dissent as more bathwater crashes over the sides. The porcelain drives an ache into his knees almost instantly as he moves them either side of Shiro’s hips and settles heavily into his lap. He's right — the tub is far too small for this. But Keith doesn't have the will to care. Tomorrow is no guarantee. He wants this, and he wants it now.

He sees the little wide-eyed look of surprise as he takes Shiro’s jaw, angling his chin just so to capture his lips again, bruising and insistent. His head swims for oxygen and Shiro is gasping for breath when he pulls back to lavish attention to the pulse under his jaw, fingers trailing below the waterline.

“I'm yours,” he whispers into his skin, granting permission. “Please. I need you.”

“Keith…”  
But it sounds placating, and not at all what he wants.  
“Keith, not like this,” he murmurs softly, running soothing fingers down his spine as he goes rigid and pulls away.

“Why not?”  
It comes out far more needy and desperate than he intends.  
“I want you. I want this.”

The way Shiro’s hand comes to rest too low on his back makes him bite his lip, and Shiro swallows as his eyes flick to the motion.  
“I do too,” he confesses. “More than anything right now.”  
Keith opens his mouth to protest, and Shiro stops him short with an amused little smile.  
“But a quickie in the bath isn't exactly what I've always had in mind,” he placates.

Keith’s words die on his tongue and his brain stutters under the implication that he’s given this thought too.

“We need to be in our debrief in less than fifteen minutes, and we still need to get dressed. And dry all this hair. I can't believe how long it's gotten...”

“I can get dressed in under a minute,” Keith assures, ignoring his musings to lean in and kiss him again. It's uninterrupted for a moment, and he starts to think he's won, until Shiro leans back ever so slightly to speak again.

“It's not enough time Keith. I don't want to rush or think about a clock. It’s not just sex to me. I want to make love to you. Properly.”

The water sloshes dangerously again as Keith pulls back in surprise as he tries to process the words. A flush travels hot up his neck and into his cheeks, and in a belated attempt to hide, he buries his face into his shoulder.  
“You can't say it like that,” he mumbles, feeling Shiro laugh under him.

“And why not?”

“It’s— it's cheesy,” Keith stutters.

“It's supposed to be romantic,” Shiro counters, wrapping his arm around his waist.

He groans his protest into Shiro’s skin. Face still burning, he pulls back just enough to look him in the eye.  
“You're serious about this, aren't you?”

Shiro hums softly in the affirmative, eyes on his lips as his fingers trace lazy circles on his hip. Keith takes a bracing breath, resting his palms on his shoulders.

“Okay. Fine. In that case I want to m—" The flames creep in again. “M-may…”  
He ducks his head.  
“I can't say it,” he whispers, and Shiro bursts into laughter, pulling him close to attack the side of his neck with kisses that make him squirm.

“You want to make love to me too?” he teases. “Is that it? Stoic Keith, Garrison Badboy, Blade of Marmora, Leader of Voltron, wants to be soft and romantic with Takashi Shirogane?”

Keith splashes him and Shiro lets out a little offended gasp which he quickly swallows with a kiss.  
“I want everything with you, idiot,” he murmurs against his lips, arms wrapped around the back of his neck.  
“If I have to deal with an alien invasion to get it first, then fine. Take me to your leader.”

Shiro laughs quietly and kisses him again, hooking his hand under his thighs to haul them both up out of the bath.

“As you command.”

* * *

The plan is flawless. Or, at least, it has to be. Keith has to believe in their groundwork, the intel they've gathered from Base One, and in their bonds with the Lions, or they will never pull through. Stopping Sendak’s zaiforge cannons won't be an easy task. He wishes Griffin a quiet “good luck” as they set off together in the fighter jet. They both ignore how the MFE leader tightens his grip on his controls, and Keith doesn't comment when he hears a gruff “you too” from the pilot's seat. Or on the way he looks up in awe when Black arrives overhead.

It turns out the one person who doesn't believe is their Achilles heel. Admiral Sanda betrays them and the cannons launch as they take heavy fire from a prepared defensive armada. She hands Voltron straight over to Sendak.

It's hopeless, Keith despairs from his cell. Having Sanda locked up beside them, realising her severe miscalculation, is of absolutely no comfort. To rely now entirely on an untested super ship would be foolish and naive. They can't escape. It's too much. He says nothing, but he knows the others feel the same.

But then his faith reignites again as the ship around them shudders and groans. Somehow, incredibly, the Garrison is fighting back. It doesn't solve the fact that they're still trapped with no way to get back to their Lions. And they need them. Atlas can't win this fight alone.

Hunk is their quiet saviour again. His call to arms centres Keith, and he leads them the way he knows Shiro would. He closes his eyes and envisions the universe through Black’s eyes, reaching out to grasp their bond tightly. They release the Lions without moving an inch from their cells, and Keith can picture the pride on Shiro’s face when Pidge tells him they're still aboard the ship.

Sanda gives her life for one last chance to escape and they don't let it languish. Keith leads the charge back to the Lions with a thundering heart. After that, there's no time to breathe. They go after the cannons while the MFEs stop the ground attack and Atlas goes for the head of the beast. It's close, far too close, and when the enemy is neutralised, it's up to the Lions to stop Sendak’s freefalling cruiser from hitting Plaht City at terminal velocity. As they fly under the ship, he thinks he spies a flash of silver hair and fear grips him far harder than it has since they first left the Garrison base. Sendak’s ship lists and breaks apart as it crashes to Earth, despite their intervention. The second they're free, he loops around and searches desperately through the dust.

Keith doesn't know how he survives the fall. His heart leaps to his mouth when he gets eyes on him, somehow still moving in the sand below where he has been thrown clear. Sendak is first to his feet though and Keith breaks off immediately, leaving the others behind.

_Get me to him._

He feels Black rumble in acknowledgement as he abandons the pilot chair, sprinting for the Lion’s mouth. Black opens up without being asked, and Keith sees red when the sight of Sendak standing over Shiro far below greets him. He won't lose him now, and certainly not to _him_. Shiro will always have his demons, and real or imagined, Keith will never leave him to deal with them alone. He leaps without regard for himself, and Sendak turns with only enough time to see Keith brandish the Black Bayard with a snarl, driving the blade through him with extreme prejudice and the full force of his fall behind him. Keith feels the cleave of flesh and bone in his hand even as he lands a moment later.

Distantly, he hears the body behind him crumple into the sand, and he doesn't spare Sendak another thought. Wild eyes land on Shiro’s body and he scrambles for him. Tender hands ease under him, and Shiro groans and winces when he takes him into his arms. Keith almost laughs with relief. The pained expression gives way to a smile as he turns his face up to him. Keith can't look away.

“Thank you,” he manages, and only the shadow of the Lions arriving above them stops Keith from responding, ecstatic voices ringing in his helmet as he pulls Shiro to his feet. It's over, finally. They've won.

Only, it's not. Only, they haven't. Not yet.

The robeast lands in the desert with a crash of sand and adrenaline spikes in veins anew. Keith knows he's wrecked, physically and mentally. The others are too. They've been fighting through the entirety of daylight. It's the furthest past their limits they've ever been. Reserves were burnt through entirely long before they escaped Sendak’s ships. Long before they held back and destroyed the cannons. There's barely enough time to get Shiro back to safety and to arm Voltron before they're under attack again.

Faced with a fresh enemy, their odds are more grim than they've ever been. Keith thinks the end has come when it pins Voltron under its weapons and sucks the very life force out of the Lions and the Paladins. But then Atlas, born anew, comes crashing through the heavens to drive the enemy away. Keith has barely a moment to contemplate his awe - of the ship, of its transformation, of Shiro. Even after fighting Sendak, after hurtling through the Earth’s atmosphere and surviving the crash, somehow he has the strength to stand and deliver something the Garrison couldn't have possibly dreamed of when they created Atlas. Keith has always known he was made of something far more powerful than ordinary human will, but seeing him doing the unfathomable only proves that even _he_ couldn't possibly know the depths of Shiro’s capabilities.

Shiro buys them time, but Atlas and her crew are barely infants in this battle. She's tremendously, terrifyingly powerful, but she's also cumbersome, and once the robeast finds its centre in the fight, its agility and ability to evolve and adapt are too much.

Atlas falls to its knees but Voltron rises again. And it's enough. But this faceless enemy has a final, fatal fail-safe. A literal ticking time bomb. If it's going down, it's taking the entire planet with it. And they can't— they _can't_ let that happen after how much they've been through. Close to eighteen hours of battle, if Keith hasn't lost track. The team knows what has to be done. None of them hesitate or question for even a moment. They scoop up their personal demise together and book it for the furthest reaches of the Earth's atmosphere. Keith's heart aches. He's never been more proud of them.

“It's been an honour to fly with you all.”

Keith stares up into the broken beast as they fall away. It's not fair. He doesn't even know the enemy that's killed them. He thinks maybe he could have a chance at peace if he had that much. But death has never cared for meaning, so why would it start today? The Paladins deserve better. Their families deserves better. Shiro deserves better.

 _He_ deserves better. He's fought, damn it. Fought so hard for so long. They all have. They've struggled, they've bled, they've clawed victory. And in pure spite of that, they're defeated. But still, and he knows - he knows his team all knows - better them, if it saves everyone else.

 _We saved Earth,_ he tells himself as the creature flashes before them. _Shiro is safe. That's enough._

The boom hits harder than anything he's ever felt in his life. Voltron falls apart, and Keith feels himself being hurtled, captured by Earth’s gravity at dizzying speeds.

 _Sorry it had to end like this_ , he tells Black.

 _Sorry Mom_ , he thinks. _I guess you'll need to hold on to that Blade for both of us now._

_Shiro…_

He closes his eyes tight as the Ozone tries to blind him, blood rushing in his ears as he holds on to the thrusters for some false semblance of control.

“Shiro, I'm so sorry,” he whispers to the cockpit, as if he’ll somehow hear from the Atlas. “I wanted to spend forever with you. I wanted my dream in the Abyss. I wanted—"

There's something that hits harder than the boom, it seems. The universe vanishes in an instant.

* * *

The ethereal field around him is painfully familiar, and Keith isn't sure if he's relieved or bitter.

 _“You'll keep me here too then?”_ Keith says aloud. His voice echoes through the plane, and he's met only with silence. Eternal, unending silence.

_“Will the other Lions save their Paladins like this too?”_

Silence. Keith feels unease creep through him like the cold. Being alone is something he can manage. Just not until the end of time.

 _“Please at least show me he's safe. You can do that, right? Our bond is—”_ fury threatens with tears, “ _I found him! He can find me too!”_

He drops onto his hands and knees.

_“He'll find me too…”_

* * *

Time is a funny concept when it's eternal. Keith doesn't know how long he sits in the same spot in the Astral Plane in solitude with his thoughts. Years probably, if he had to guess. Maybe centuries. Enough time that Keith has sifted through every moment of his life a million times over. He clings to the better memories. Of his dad’s voice and travelling with Krolia and finding Kosmo. Of his sweet, fleeting moments with Shiro. Of the warmth of his touch and the crease of his eyes when he smiled. Of whispered words of love and promises in the dark.

Time passes slow and everlasting and leaves Keith alone forever. And at the end of it all, the plane around him shifts. The air gets a little warmer and the glow fades until there's nothing around him at all. He’s floating, drifting in a gentle current going nowhere. There's a delicate pressure at his back and under his legs. Tender fingers in his hair, cradling his head. His name comes to him, warbled and underwater, and Keith sifts through the haze to try to find the source. The light is still too bright, blinding, but a shadow crosses his face and he puts all his energy into trying to focus.

_“Stay with me, Keith.”_

Where else would he go? He doesn't suppose he has much choice in death. Is he still in the Astral Plane, or has he moved on? Keith wouldn't begrudge Black for letting him go. All their time together in death, and not once had they managed to speak to one another. It wasn't as if there would be another body for him even if he had been found. No, best the Lion let him move on. Let go. Heal without him, if he had managed to survive the crash. Maybe he could focus on a new Paladin, rather than devote his energy to keeping Keith’s soul here. It would be a kindness to them both, Keith thinks.

_“Keith, look at me. Please.”_

Oh, yes… the voice. He'd forgotten for a moment. So insistent. Keith redoubles his efforts into focusing and dreams of a God wearing Shiro’s face, plucking him from the bracken waters of the underworld and cradling him in his arms. He tries to speak, but the sound catches in his throat.

_“Fight for me. You made me stay. Now it's your turn. Fight. I'm going to get…”_

The voice fades, as does the vision. In his last moment, he thinks he sees the God panic and he wonders if divine beings can feel fear too. Keith doesn't feel feel fear, just numbness. Floating, light nothingness.

* * *

Keith surfaces again, much to his surprise. He sees nothing, but there's a slow, steady beep that surrounds him, and a warmth against his palm.

_“— are doing really well. Allura woke up today too, so that just leaves you. I know I have to be patient and wait until you're ready but—"_

He sinks back down again.

* * *

The slip of skin against his in the dark draws him back.

_“Captain, you should be sleeping in your own quarters. With all the refugees arriving, you need—"_

_“Don't presume to know what's best for me, Cadet.”_

There's a long, tense pause and then a sigh. The warmth returns to his hand again.

_“Sorry Griffin. I know Iverson probably sent you and you're right, I just…”_

Just… what?

_“I can't leave him. I don't want him to be alone when he wakes up.”_

Keith frowns to himself. When who wakes up?

_“... What if he never does sir? You can't stay here forever.”_

_“Watch me.”_

* * *

Keith dreams. It's odd. He thought he had given up such things before he had even left the Astral Plane. But he dreams of kicking up desert sand on hoverbikes. Of learning about Shiro’s illness and his desire to reach his ambitions, no matter if the Garrison or Adam told him to turn away from them.

He dreams of the Garrison launch pad, the morning before Kerberos.

“You don't want to bring Adam instead?”

Something sad flitters across Shiro's face where he stands in Keith's doorway.  
“I don't think Adam will want to see me before the launch at all. We, um, we ended things a few weeks back.”

“Oh,” Keith says eloquently.  
“Sorry for bringing it up.”

He's a little less sorry that he's gone. Keith never understood their arguments. Sure, he wanted to spend every possible moment with Shiro too while he still could. While they could still go for hoverbike rides and talk about the universe late into the evening. Saying goodbye to him, knowing he would be gone for nearly a year, was going to kill him. But he could never hold him back from his dreams. Not when Shiro had done so much to set him on the path to find his.

“His loss,” Keith says with a shrug. It's not enough to cheer Shiro up completely, but it brings a little smile to his lips, and Keith clings to the victory.

“So, do you wanna come?” Shiro asks. “Be my plus one? The Holts are bringing their family along too.”

It's casual, confident at first glance, but Keith detects a hint of nervousness under it, and he's suddenly struck by the thought that maybe Shiro feels alone. He has no family here to speak of, and with Adam out of the picture, the next obvious option is gone too. Keith is stunned at the realisation that maybe… maybe this makes him important to Shiro too. For Keith, no one rates higher in his life than Shiro. He just never entertained the thought that the sentiment might be shared back to him in any halfway manner. Perhaps there is an element of convenience to it, but Shiro is hardly lacking in friends and enthusiastic students at the Garrison. And yet, here he is, standing in his doorway, asking him to come to the rocket viewing meant only for family. Keith's heart is suddenly pounding.

“I would be honoured,” he says, sincere, and Shiro beams.

There's no bitterness when Shiro shows him around. His eyes are bright and eager, and there's such a happiness to him as he points out the components of the rocket to Keith, shows him where he will be piloting the ship and explains the mechanics in careful detail. Keith clings to every word, trying not to lose focus when Shiro’s hand comes to his shoulder. Keith's not an idiot. He knows he's been holding a candle for Shiro since the moment he came out of that office and told him he couldn't give up on himself. But with Adam in his life, Keith was well aware the feelings were his alone. Like a little brother, Adam had once said, fond and cutting straight to the heart.

Keith didn't even dislike the guy, not really. The words had stung all the same, because of the truth behind him. Shiro saw him as more than simply a student, more than a mentee… just not in the way Keith fantasised about lying alone in his cadet bunk. But he would take anything he could get from Shiro. He would cling to the word brother like a lifeline, cherish it, nurse it close. He was just lucky to have him in his life.

Shiro glances down to him, totally unaware of his jumbled thoughts and inner turmoil. He smiles, and Keith feels paralysed under it.

“Work hard while I'm gone. If you haven't already got your own mission by the time I get back, maybe you'd like to copilot with an oldtimer like me.”

Keith swallows hard, because he says it so easily, as if it isn't Keith’s greatest dream.

“Yeah… maybe we can go beyond the Milky Way together next time...”

* * *

_“Twelve days, Keith… it would be nice if you could wake before your Mom arrives.”_

* * *

Keith keeps his head down, works his ass off. Whenever he feels the twitch of boredom during formation drills, or the niggle of alienation from his fellow cadets, he remembers Shiro’s words, thinks of him reaching Kerberos, and knuckles down harder than before. Shiro’s records tumble in the face of his determination. It's bittersweet. His competitive side preens at his achievements, desperate to find a way to contact Shiro to tease him. But when his final sim score falls from the top of the leaderboard, the weight of it is too much to bear, and Keith requests sick leave immediately. Suddenly it feels like Shiro is being erased from the Garrison in pieces, and he is the sole culprit. For a moment, he considers lying and telling Iverson he cheated, just to restore Shiro to his rightful place at the top. But then he thinks of how disappointed Shiro would be in _that_ , far more than his new ranking, and he stays curled on his bed. He tries to imagine how Shiro will react when he finds out, but he can only picture a look of brief surprise, followed by a blinding grin. It brings a little smile to Keith’s lips and he settles, resolving to keep applying himself in a way that would make him proud.

With that in mind, he reaches for his data pad to see if there has been any updates from the Kerberos mission. Shiro signed off the last report himself, reporting their successful landing on the distant moon. That had been three hours ago, just before class, and he hadn't heard any news since. Keith knows that's not unusual, but he's eager for more all the same. Seeing Shiro’s name at the top of that page had helped to ease the loneliness he felt without him. Helped him feel a little closer in spite of the galaxy between them. Keith refreshes the feed and frowns. Nothing new, but Shiro’s report… It's gone. Keith refreshes again, and another time when it fails to load.

“Piece of junk,” he grumbles, smacking it on the headboard behind him.

But fear first snakes its way into his chest then, pressing and paranoid.

It's vindicated not a day later when Iverson gruffly calls him to his office during breakfast. He sees Adam leaving as he arrives, but he doesn't think he sees him, lips set in a tight line with a furrowed brow and fogged glasses. Keith turns to watch him rush down the hall with a hammering heart and wide eyes.

“Cadet.”

Iverson’s voice isn't unkind when it snaps his attention back, but it puts him on edge. He follows him into the office silently, sitting across from the General only when he takes his seat.

“I understand I interrupted your meal. Can I get you anything?”

Keith shakes his head, feeling sick. If Iverson is offering hospitality, it must be bad. He watches him sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. Part of him wants to demand he just spit out whatever it is he brought him here to say. He bites his tongue and waits.

“The Garrison will be issuing a press release this afternoon regarding the Kerberos mission.” Iverson says, rehearsed. “Unfortunately we lost contact with the ship before they were due to land and have just this morning received confirmation that the flight perished due to pilot error.”

Keith feels the universe tunnel around him.

“We've attempted to contact the Holts’ next of kin and wanted to extend the same courtesy to yourself and Officer Williams. We will of course provide any necessary support needed for you to—"

“Pilot error?” Keith interrupts furiously. “That's rubbish!”

Iverson clears his throat, speaking in measured tones.  
“I know you and Officer Shirogane were close, however—"

“No! I saw his report just yesterday!” Keith insists. “The crew landed safely. Shiro got them there without any problems at all!!”

Iverson’s expression goes eerily blank.  
“No such report exists, Cadet.”

Keith slams both fists on the table, leaping to his feet.  
“Only because _you_ erased it!” he accuses. “You're covering something up. _And_ you're blaming Shiro for it!”

“Enough, Cadet,” Iverson says firmly. “Sit down. I know you're upset, but I will not excuse such undisciplined behaviour in my office. As I’m sure you are aware, Officer Shirogane was already flying against medical recommenda—"

Keith isn't sure what comes over him, but one moment the room flashes in technicolour, and the next, Iverson is holding his eye, blood pouring between his fingers. Keith lowers his smarting fist and knows he's finally reached the point of no return. No Shiro to save him this time. He would be so disappointed.

A glint of silver catches his eye on the desk as Iverson howls, with the name _SHIROGANE_ etched on a tag. In all likelihood, they were meant for Adam, but he had clearly not wanted them. Keith snatches them up without a second thought.

“Shiro’s illness is a convenient excuse for you,” he snarls.  
“Whatever you're hiding… I'm going to find out. I'm going to find him and make you all pay for what you're doing to him. Fuck the Garrison. Fuck this cover up. Fuck you, _sir_.”

Keith turns tail and runs, hearing Iverson bellow his name behind him. He has to be quick. He has to get out of here. He barrels through halls without a care for anyone in his path, heading straight for the barracks. The moment he reaches his dorm, he tears off his uniform, pulling on his boots and the red jacket that hangs on the back of his door. It’s just as well he has little in the way of personal possessions, because everything else, including the dog tags, gets stuffed into one duffle bag that he slings over his shoulder.

“Hey!” he hears when he leaves the room again.  
He sees the two security officers and bolts. And he almost makes it off the barracks too, but his arrogance blinds him to an intercept as he rounds his final corner. He finds himself tackled forcefully to the ground, arms wrenched behind his back. He grits his teeth where his face has been pushed into the linoleum, hearing the quiet clack of boots calmly approaching. As he's pulled roughly to his feet, he find himself looking into the unimpressed face of Admiral Sanda herself.

“Escort him off premises.”

“I was already leaving,” Keith spits, tasting copper.

“Consider this your formal expulsion, Cadet,” Sanda says, unaffected, as he's dragged away.  
“Come back onto Garrison property, and you will be arrested on the spot.”

Keith does come back, days later after the world hears about pilot error and eats up the bullshit the Garrison feeds them. The funeral service the Garrison holds is laughably small, better suited for war criminals than their brightest stars. From the back of his hoverbike on the crest of the hill that overlooks the military cemetery, Keith watches. He can see the minister, Iverson and Sanda, a pair that must be related to the Holts, and, much to his surprise, Adam. The ceremony is horribly short, and the Holts cling to each other as they lower empty coffins into the ground. Adam stands at the plot off the the right, staring at Shiro’s portrait unmoving for an age. When he turns back around, their eyes meet across the distance between them and the officer freezes. Keith lets go of the dog tags around his neck to lower his goggles and rev his engine, speeding back into the desert from where he came.

* * *

“ _I love you. You know that, right? Maybe a selfish part of me hoped that would be enough. Now I'm just worried I didn't tell you as many times as you needed. When you wake up, I'm going to make sure you know without a shadow of a doubt. I love you, Keith. God, I love you so much…”_

* * *

“We’ll be with him until you get back.”

The voices are closer now, almost in reach. This one is new, and deeply familiar all the same. Keith tries desperately to pin it down.

“... I don't want to leave.”

Instinctively, he relaxes, hearing the voice that has stayed with him this whole time in the void. He can hear footsteps, getting closer, and a weight beside him shifts and disappears.

“Be the Leader he's always admired,” the other voice - female, he realises - says. “Make him proud. And give yourself a chance to breathe after. He won't be alone. Kolivan and I aren't going anywhere. Neither is he. It’s clear you've been neglecting yourself through all of this, but you need to recover too.”

A sigh, heavy and slow, then the press of something warm at his forehead.

“I'll be back as soon as I can…”

* * *

It's like the water has turned to treacle, and Keith's limbs feel heavy as he kicks for the surface. He… feels a lot of things, actually. There's an ache in his arms and a soreness that flares with every breath. He can feel himself breathing. The rush of air down his throat that fills his lungs and leaves again like a tide. He feels something smooth under his fingers, crisp cotton sheets. Softness under his head.

His head.

He groans at the sharp sensation that shoots between his temples. That's unpleasant. There's the dip of weight beside him and something takes his hand. Slowly, the pain fades to a dull hum and Keith can focus on the other things around him. There's a quiet, distant chatter, too far for him to discern. Footsteps on a hard floor just beyond too. Closer, the sound of someone breathing beside him. The hand in his squeezes carefully, trying to guide him.

He hasn't opened his eyes. Maybe he’ll live if he opens his eyes. He just needs to open his eyes...

Afternoon light blinds him for just a moment, but he doesn't shy away, looking for the presence beside him. It takes him a moment to find his voice.

“Mom,” he croaks.

“I'm here,” Krolia says quietly.

Behind her, perched on the window sill, Kolivan smiles.

“You fought so well. I'm so proud of you.”

Keith swallows, trying to relieve his dry throat.  
“How—?”

“Shiro contacted us after it happened,” Krolia explains. “But we were already on our way. Our Blade… I felt the connection flicker for a moment. You scared me, Keith.”

And the way her expression falters for a moment makes Keith’s throat go tighter.

“I'm sorry,” he rasps. “And Shiro?... The others?”

“Safe. Alive,” Kolivan says. “All waiting for news on you. The new Captain would have just finished addressing the coalition gathered here on Earth. I suspect he will be back here soon. He barely left your side by all reports. Maybe he'll finally relax now you're awake.”  
Kolivan stands, moving to the bedside to place a hand on his shoulder, and there's something a little softer about him than Keith remembers.  
“Good to see you awake, kid. There's still plenty left to be done.”

Keith manages a weak smile.  
“Ready for duty,” he croaks, wheezing a laugh that hurts when Kolivan raises an eyebrow.

“Focus on getting upright first. Otherwise we'll all incur the wrath of your mother.”  
He nods to Krolia. “I'll inform the others.”

The nurses arrive before Kolivan returns, shining lights into his eyes, testing his motor functions, and asking him stupid questions about his identity and the events around Sendak’s occupation. When they tell him he's been out cold for weeks, he's not sure if he's more surprised that he's been asleep so long, or that he hasn't been gone for a lifetime.

There's pounding, heavy footfalls that approach, enough to alarm the nurses as they lay him back against his propped up pillows. Keith is slow to turn his head, but it's just in time to see Shiro almost slam into the doorframe at speed, uniform ruffled and panting. The sight floods him with such fond happiness that he smiles giddly, though maybe he can blame that on the lingering concussion. The nurses suddenly take their leave then, much to Keith’s confusion. Krolia makes for the door too, pausing only to say something inaudible to Shiro as she passes. Then it’s just them.

It takes a moment for him to realise the tears that have flooded Shiro’s eyes in an instant, and delayed concern tries to prod at him, but then Shiro straightens and walks toward the bed with purpose. Keith tries to take a leaf out of his book and lighten the mood with a joke.

“So apparently I haven't brushed my teeth in over a fortnight, so you might wanna rethink—"

Shiro doesn't let him finish, only hastening his approach to gently cradle his jaw and press his lips urgently to his. Keith yields without hesitation. Tears that aren’t his own fall onto his cheeks and roll down to his chin, and eventually Shiro’s uneven breathing is what breaks them apart.

“Did you truly spend all this time trying to come up with the most unromantic thing to say to me when you woke up?”

Keith knows his grin must look a little goofy from how it feels on his lips.  
“Didn't stop you kissing me,” he counters.

“I suppose you're right,” Shiro laughs wetly.  
The kiss this time is fleeting and light.  
“You scared me,” he whispers, staying close, but not meeting his eyes.  
“You were so brave. You all were. But I…” His fingers clutch the sheets by Keith's hip where he braces himself. “I was terrified. You crashed right on top of the Garrison. By the time I got to you...God Keith, I thought you were dead. You were so cold. Pale. So still. Half your face was covered in blood. It was dry all down your neck. All I could think of was first Adam, then you. And for the first time I—" He chokes, stopping for a moment to try to compose himself. “For the first time, I just didn't want to do this anymore. Not if you weren't there.”

Keith blinks, stunned. In all the time they've know each other, Shiro has always been unerring when it comes to his dreams and finding his place in the universe. Love hadn't been enough to halt his path before Kerberos and Voltron. But apparently heartbreak has changed that.

“Shiro…”

Shiro glances up to meet his eyes again, giving a shaky smile.  
“But then I picked you up in my arms and I could just _feel_ you were still alive. I called your name and you opened your eyes for me just for a tiny moment and I knew I had you. I knew you would pull through. I should have known from the beginning. Death itself runs in fear from you, Keith. I should know better than anyone.”

Keith's laugh comes out a little airy.  
“You make me sound like some kind of cheesy superhero,” he teases.

The look that crosses Shiro’s face is adoration and agony in equal measures.  
“You and the team saved _billions_ of lives in a single moment.”  
Large metallic fingers card gently through his hair, careful to miss the tender spots around his bandage.  
“Sounds like the work of superheroes to me.”

But then the smile starts to fade entirely.

“I know I'm not supposed to say this. I know you can't promise me this but…” Keith watches his cheeks flush as tears threaten again. “Please… please don't do that to me ever again. I can't… I can’t lose you. After everything you did to save me, you have to make sure you stay safe too.”

His words clamp down Keith’s ribs like a vice.  
“Sh-Shiro…”

“Keith, I'm selfish. I don't want to be alone. I love you. You know that, right? More than anything in the universe is what we say. But without you... it feels like there is no universe.”

And the vice squeezes, rendering him breathless.  
“Sit down next to me.”

Shiro hesitates.  
“I shouldn't. You're still—"

“I'm fine,” Keith interrupts, already shuffling across the mattress. “Sit.”

Shiro still looks intent on protesting, but when Keith takes his hand, the fight leaves him immediately. Keith tugs gently, and Shiro follows him up, perching precariously on the edge of the bed.

“I thought I'd lost you too,” Keith admits.  
It draws Shiro a little closer, and Keith rests his head on his shoulder.  
“Shiro, did I ever tell you about what I saw in the Quantum Abyss?”

It makes him tense under his cheek, shoulders going stiff for a moment. It jostles him just a little, and he can feel Shiro forcing himself to relax in immediate response.  
“You saw me fighting you,” he murmurs quietly.

Keith noses into the side of his neck apologetically. Opening up wounds that still haven't quite healed isn't his intention.  
“I saw a lot of things,” he explains. “My past. My mother's past. And yes, future flashes of our fight.”  
A hand snakes around his waist and Keith stills to look up at him.  
“I saw something else, right before we arrived at the Altean colony. Us, here on Earth. Something that hasn't happened yet.”

“Us?...”

Keith nods, then winces. Shiro’s hand goes immediately to his temple with a look of concern. With a sheepish smile, he tries to reassure him by turning his face into the touch.  
“Mm. Just you and me in the desert shack. You were comforting me in the middle of the night. As I was falling, I thought it was so unfair that I had been shown a future I wasn't going to have. One that I never dared to dream I might have in the first place.”  
He heaves a sigh, and wants to blame his pain medication when he finally feels the sear of tears in his eyes.  
“All of the very worst moments of my life have been every time I thought I had lost you. The last thing I ever wanted was to make you feel a moment like that too. I'm so sorry.”

“You're here now,” Shiro says, resting his cheek gently on the top of Keith’s head. “That's all that's that matters.”  
He clears his throat and shifts, making it easier for Keith to turn onto his side against his chest and hook a leg over his knee.

“I… I have something to tell you too.”

Keith tries to give him a curious look, but it's hard to meet his eyes from where he rests against his shoulder.

“Before my surgery, I asked Sam if they could gather whatever they needed to run some comprehensive tests. To help them check up on the progression of my disease in this new body when there was time.”

Keith feels every atom in his body freeze perfectly still. His breath halts, and his heart waits.

“The labs came back with some preliminary results a few days after we recovered you and the others from your Lions, and I had some follow up tests to confirm as best as possible but… it seems like there's no trace. Whatever Haggar did, it looks as if it's been completely eradicated from my—"

A sob rips its way out of Keith's throat before he can rein it in, and he feels Shiro startle beside him. Desperate to contain himself, a hand flies to his mouth, but it's of little help. His shoulders quake and his ribs stutter over his lungs. There’s an spontaneous flood carving its path down his cheeks and flowing over his fingers, but his tears don't taste bitter. It's crushing, immense relief that rends him utterly powerless.

“Oh, Keith… Baby, it’s okay. It's okay.”

Keith rolls onto Shiro entirely, wrapping his arms tight around the back of his neck and burying his face into his collarbone. Later, when he goes to his father’s grave with Krolia, he’ll think back on this moment again, remembering just how precious and fleeting life is, and just how lucky they are to suddenly have infinite possibilities ahead of them.

“That upset you have a whole lifetime with me now?” Shiro teases. He exaggerates his _oof_ when he gets a half-hearted fist to the ribs for his efforts. Shiro holds him through his shaking, a soothing hand running up and down his spine. But eventually he voices his worry.  
“Keith?... Maybe I should have waited to tell you. You've only just woken up…”

Keith sucks in a few long breaths to try to steady himself.  
“I get to keep you,” he finally says, muffled and hoarse.  
He knows he must look terrible when he pushes himself up to look at him, his vision blurred, his nose stuffy and his cheeks burning.  
“A lifetime isn't enough but I'll take it with both hands. It's so much more than I thought I'd ever get.”

Shiro swallows, wide eyed but unwavering.  
“I'll make every day count with you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”  
Shiro smiles as he attempts to wipe his cheeks dry with a tender thumb.  
“Starting right now.”

Keith closes his eyes as he leans down and to him, forever, he surrenders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, this drifts further and further from my original premise... 
> 
> If you've hung in there this long, let me say I'm truly grateful! I struggled to give this chapter the love it deserved - work has been hectic these last few months and my time to write has been limited at best. I'm sorry if this seems quite disjointed as a result. A special thanks to [EverythingandAnything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingandAnything) for putting my mind at ease and being my last minute beta.
> 
> Find me at copilotsheith on [tumblr](https://copilotsheith.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/copilotsheith)


	4. Taking Flight

“You're looking better today.”

The familiar voice makes Keith turn automatically, and the familiar eyes, familiar face stirs an instant hum that starts in his chest and spreads like hot honey to his fingers and toes.

“I should hope so. They've finally cleared me for official discharge.”

Familiar lips curl into a familiar smile.

“I know,” he says, and Keith finally spots the arm behind his back.

“Shiro, no,” he groans, but the bouquet emerges anyway.  
“Where am I going to put all of these?” he asks, gesturing to the dozen other arrangements around his hospital bed. Of violets, tulips, forget-me-nots and other blooms Shiro named that he's since forgotten. One for every day since he woke up. Each with a different message delivered in the morning before Garrison duties call. Keith knows Shiro holds a lot of goodwill with all the Holts, but he's honestly surprised Colleen hasn't chased him out of her greenhouse yet. He takes the flowers anyway, and Shiro smiles like the sun.

“It's holly for recovery, and red roses for—”

“I know,” Keith interrupts softly, stretching up to kiss him.  
“I know what those ones mean.”

Shiro laughs softly against his lips.  
“Good. But still, I love you.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

Tender fingers brush Keith's hair away from his eyes as Shiro pulls back.  
“I've got the rest of the afternoon free,” he says. “Leave those here and let's get lunch.”

He knows that they're already on a countdown - now he's up, it's only a matter of time before they’ll leave Earth - so he nods immediately, and doesn't care if it seems eager. Shiro suddenly looks apologetic.

“We can’t go off-base though, so it'll just be the Garrison cafeteria. Not very romantic.”

“It’s romantic if you foot commissary with your Admiral allowance,” Keith grins, and Shiro laughs, filling his chest with molten joy.

“In that case, I might even get you _two_ pudding cups if you're feeling lucky,” he jokes.

“Right now? Luckiest guy in the universe.”

* * *

Lunch hour means it's unsurprisingly busy when they arrive in the mess hall, but they're late, and it seems that - thankfully - most are filing out. The throngs part at the presence of the Admiral and the Black Paladin, and Keith ducks his head self consciously as Shiro leads the way. Across the room, he spies friendly faces and glances over Lance and the MFEs to lock eyes with Matt. Keith wonders if the same wide-eyed surprise he sees shows on his face too. The last time they had seen each other, after all, was in passing years ago while he still wore the uniform of a Blade. A wide smile spreads across the rebel's face and he waves enthusiastically. It's a chain reaction, and Sam and Colleen both glance up while Pidge stays engrossed with whatever is playing on her datapad. It makes Keith finally comes unstuck enough to wave back. Then Matt says something that looks off-handed from a distance, but has his parents blanching and Pidge sitting bolt upright in her chair.

“He _what_?!”  
Everyone left in the cafeteria looks up and Shiro turns beside him too. Keith can see Matt’s suddenly sheepish expression, but he can't hear what he says with placating hands toward his little sister.  
“Of course I didn't. Why would I know that? When would— where is he?”  
Keith feels a sudden foreboding dread creep in like frost on his skin. Wild hazel eyes land on him across the hall, and Keith is paralysed under her aura as Pidge marches toward him with purpose. His last conversation with Matt… he remembers now. After Naxzela. After he—

“Katie,” he tries, voice croaking.  
The crack echoes off the walls and snaps his face to the side.

“Pidge!!”

The sting of his cheek is enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he can't bring himself to look at her when Matt and - much to his dismay - Lance wrestle her back.  
“Let go of me!”

Shiro is suddenly in his vision, half crouched and wide eyed.  
“Keith?...”

He flinches when he touches his burning skin, distantly hearing Sam’s aghast demand that his daughter apologise.  
“You're going to think I deserved that in a moment,” he mumbles, because her venom could only mean one thing.

“You were just going to die?” Pidge spits.

Keith forces himself to look up over Shiro’s shoulder, terrified. The palm she cradles is bright red. Keith can only imagine his face is worse.  
“Pidge, please,” he begs weakly.

“That was your grand plan? Crash your ship head first into Haggar and hope that would save us from Naxzela?”

Lance double takes.  
“Wait, what?”

Shiro goes eerily still beside him, and Keith can feel himself starting to panic.

“Explain, quickly. Or I'll let her go,” Lance threatens, and it's a surprise how furious and anguished he looks all at once.

“I-I…”

“Enough,” Shiro cuts in firmly.  
“This is no way for you all to behave. Pidge, cool off. Now. Matt, go with her. Lance, if you want answers, don't make demands. For now, wait. You're all causing a scene when we're supposed to be a united group.”

Matt utters a quiet apology as they go and Keith swallows, covering his cheek. He thinks he can feel the raised impressions of Pidge's fingers in his skin, and he's not terribly surprised. She certainly hadn't held back.

“Keith, I think we should take lunch somewhere a little more private,” he hears Shiro say, and he nods numbly.

“Black?” he asks, and it comes out meek and quiet.

“I'll meet you there.”

Keith doesn't waste time arguing. He doesn't want to be here. He can't stand the eyes on him any longer. The hangar where the Lions rest, away from the Atlas, is blissfully quiet, and Keith climbs up onto Black's paw, drawing a knee to his chest. With a shaky breath, he closes his eyes and presses his cheek to cold metal, feeling the Lion rumble quietly in his mind.

It's how Shiro finds him, and they both stay silent until Shiro passes up their meals and climbs up too. Keith barely breathes until Shiro speaks well after they've started eating.

“I can't say I'm surprised.”  
His voice is measured.  
“It's exactly the kind of thing you'd do. You're not afraid to make sacrifices for others. I don't know why the thought about what you did in that battle didn't cross my mind earlier.”

“Then you're not angry?” Keith asks hopefully.

“I'm furious,” Shiro replies evenly, a sucker punch delivered straight to his gut. Keith flinches when cutlery clatters. “Keith, I know the Blades taught you about the mission above all else but that… that is not how we do things with Voltron. We have to be there for each other. I don't know what you think crashing your ship would have solved, but you just… you just wouldn't be here.”

Keith can't move when he feels him shift closer.

“You nearly stole this from me. I would have never lived with myself if you died for my stupid mistake, clone or not.”

Hands land on his jaw and force him to look up into blazing eyes.

“And I know that sounds selfish, but I can't stop thinking… what if you had? Where would I be without this? Without you? I…”

The gaze softens, but only because it fills with tears. Keith's breath hitches, stuck in his chest, and he thinks he may be drowning in them.

“Shiro…”

“You were trying to save the whole team, I know, but…” Shiro swallows, running a tender thumb over his cheek. “But promise me, that it ever comes down to you or me, that you'll choose yourself.”

Keith's heart thunders. He won't lie.  
“I can't,” he whispers, seeing agony flit across Shiro's face. “Shiro, I can't.”

“I know.”  
It sounds defeated.  
“And it scares me more than anything else.”

* * *

The proceeding weeks follow in a blur, a flurry of non-stop motion that makes every day pass as if it only last minutes, and shelves life outside of the Garrison until there is nothing else. Shiro stumbles to bed exhausted, or Keith falls into his arms barely conscious, or they both find themselves unable to keep their eyes open long enough to whisper good night. It's t-minus one before Keith even has a chance to catch his breath when he delivers his final report on Earth's defences and they set their launch for tomorrow in stone. Shiro is the perfect commander, sailing through the checks they need to begin their liberation mission. He has one last order.

“Take some time for yourselves. Be with the ones you love.”

Keith hangs back as everyone files out, and Shiro glances up with an apologetic look that makes him frown instantly.

“Hey baby,” he says softly, and it does nothing to ease him. “I'm just going to be tied up another hour or two testing my connection to Atlas.”

“But you said—” 

“I know,” Shiro soothes, pressing a brief kiss to his forehead. “And I will. But maybe you can spend some time in with your mom first… then, if you're not too upset with me, the evening could be all ours?”

There's something hopeful in Shiro's voice that assures Keith he can hold him to it, so his heart calms.

“Sunset,” he says softly. “Where we used to finish our races.”

“I'll bring dinner.”

“Good. Then you'll know I'll starve if you're late.”

“Seems dramatic,” Shiro deadpans, and Keith grins.

“Just giving you some extra motivation to finish up quickly with Atlas,” he says, giving him a gentle bump of his hip as he moves away.  
“Don't be late.”

“I won't!”

* * *

He is, but only marginally. Lance is a false start in Coran's ridiculous Altean courting outfit, but Keith finds he doesn't mind half as much as he would have years ago. The company is nice, and when they talk about Allura ( _finally_ , Keith thinks, because it's been a long time coming), he has a stark realisation. They're friends now. Not through convenience or circumstance, but actual, genuine friends. Lance turns to him as a confidant, and Keith offers him the support he needs on instinct and it feels… nice. Easy.

“Shiro told me where to find you,” Lance tells him when he asks, scratching Kosmo under the chin.  
“I knew you would tell me what I needed to hear, instead of what I wanted to hear. You always have.”  
He lets silence settle between them for a moment before he stretches and untucks his legs.  
“I talked a lot with the other guys about what you did during Naxela,” he says as he stands, brushing dirt and wolf hair off of his butchered uniform, “and after we got past how incredibly angry we all were, we realised we were just… sad. We asked each other what our last words to you would have been and none of us could remember. We thought about how you had left the team, and what we could’ve done better back then, and even just dealing in hypotheticals… it sucked, man. I don't know how the team could have moved past that if it really happened.”  
He digs his hands in his pockets, staring at his boots where he scuffs them against the metal beneath them.  
“I guess… I'm sorry for the way I used to treat you. The way I behaved after Shiro disappeared. I didn't think you were a good leader back then, and maybe in a lot of ways you weren't ready for that role. But you were always the best man for the job, and you always cared, even if we couldn't see it. It takes a lot of guts to decide to sacrifice yourself for your friends. But none of us should. I'm glad you didn't have to.”

Keith swallows the lump in his throat.  
“Me too.”

The approaching sound of a motor has them both looking down, and Keith smiles when he sees Shiro's face.

“Don't you have a hot date?” he calls up to them when he jumps out of the vehicle, leaning over the side door to pull a basket out of the back.

“Kinda looks like I'm interrupting one,” Lance yells back, and Keith hears Shiro laugh.

He follows Lance down from the back of the lion and catches the keys that fly at the Red Paladin's face when they're both on solid ground.

“Oops, sorry Lance,” Shiro says sheepishly. “It's… the hand. Uh. Just thought you'd like to drive it back so you can get back a little quicker.”

Lance stares at the keys Keith drops into his hands, like he's seen his life flash before his eyes.  
“Oh, yeah. Thanks Shiro.”

“Go,” Keith smirks, giving him a shove. “Good luck.”  
He waits until he's gone before he turns his attention to where Shiro is laying out his basket.

“Kinda looks like I missed the main event,” Shiro says apologetically, glancing out to a horizon that's more indigo than tangerine.

“You made it,” Keith says softly.  
“That's all that matters. And this?” He gestures at the picnic when Shiro freezes to look up at him. “Much more, uh, _romantic_ than the cafeteria.”

“Oh good, well that's definitely where I set the bar with this.”

And Keith laughs, and falls in love with him a little more.

“Sit,” Shiro smiles up to him, handing him two short glasses when he obeys. “It’s no nunvil, but since we missed your twenty-first…” Keith watches as he pours a nip of whisky from an old bottle in both glasses, “I thought maybe we could just celebrate now.”

Keith is pretty sure he's closer to twenty-two at this point, but he doesn't say as much, handing one of the glasses back.

“Now, whiskey is a pretty hard first drink, so if you don't like it then—”

Keith cuts him off by throwing the whole thing back in one hit. Belatedly, he notes the silence and glances at Shiro to see his shocked look.  
“What?”

“I… That's good Yamazaki whisky, Keith!” He seems scandalised. “It's supposed to be sipped not…”

“It still works the same,” Keith shrugs.

“That's not the point!”  
With a sigh, Shiro sets down his glass to pour Keith's again.  
“ _Sip._ How are you not wheezing right now?”  
He seems to have a moment of realisation that gives him pause as he puts the bottle away.  
“This isn't your first drink, is it?”

Keith brings the glass to his lips, muffling his answer.  
“Found pop's liquor cabinet when I left the Garrison.”  
_After they kicked me out._ But he doesn't say that. It's the past now. He glances guiltily up to Shiro, because he's sure he would hardly approve.  
“Sorry.”

But Shiro's eyes are understanding, and judgement-free, as always.  
“Don't apologise. It was a bit silly to expect you to wait. No one ever does. Pretty sure I was fourteen when I had my first beer.”

Keith exaggerates his gasp.  
“And they call you Golden Boy.”

“C'mere, I'll show you _Golden Boy_ ,” Shiro growls playfully, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him, laughing, into his lap. The kiss burns from the whisky on his tongue and sets a quiet smoulder in his blood better than the alcohol ever could.

“I have a surprise for you,” Keith murmurs against his lips, and Shiro hums his curiosity.

“I have one for you too. But you first, after we eat.”

Keith laughs when he sees the greasy America diner burgers come out. It's hardly fine dining, however it is a welcome departure from the Garrison's dubious protein and boiled vegetables, which have improved since the fight with Sendak ended without question, but still hardly inspire on taste. Keith suspects Kosmo might have stolen one for himself when he pulls an empty wrapper out after they've both had their first, but if Shiro notices, he says nothing. The stars are out above them and moonlight dances across Shiro's skin by the time they pack up and Keith offers his hand.

“Me first, right?”

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks, when he's back on his feet and they're walking into Black's cockpit.

“Not far,” Keith answers. “Somewhere familiar.”

Black takes it slow as they glide over the desert floor, and Shiro recognises it the second it comes into view.  
“The shack,” he breathes. “It's still here…”

Keith smiles.  
“Come on,” he says, taking him by the elbow when he stands from the pilot chair.  
“The last time we were here was—”

“The first time you saved me,” Shiro finishes softly, and Keith blushes, because he was going to say the night they left Earth. But in the end, he supposes, they are one and the same.  
“I thought maybe we would have to rebuild it, if we ever came back.”

“Being so isolated saved it, I guess.”

Keith leads the path down, Kosmo circling around them a couple of times, before perking his ears and teleporting away.  
“He'll be alright,” he assures Shiro when he pauses to watch him appear and reappear along the desert trail.  
“Let's go inside.”

The door creaks quietly when Keith pushes on it, and Shiro looks around in wonder. He's done his best to tidy the place ahead of time; to remove the dust and change sheets and throw away the mess they left behind. But his old corkboard is still there, the same as day they departed Earth, and Shiro moves over to it immediately.

“I still can't believe all the work you put into this,” he says softly, running a finger along a length of pinned red string. He stops at a curling, fading post-it note, staring a moment. “I can’t believe you never gave up on me.”

Keith swallows, feeling buried grief that he thought he dealt with years ago threaten to breach in his throat.  
“You taught me what it meant to have someone believe in you.”

Shiro crosses the floor in an instant, pulling Keith close to kiss him deeply. He trips backward under the force of it, but uses it to his advantage, guiding Shiro's momentum to stumble back to the old mattress against the wall. The old bed springs groan in protest when their weight crashes down, and it's no small miracle that the whole frame doesn't collapse beneath them as they come to a stop. Keith stretches up into a kiss that quickly devolves into something biting and desperate as Shiro bears down over him, settling knees either side of his hips. He makes his intentions crystal clear, fingers sneaking in under the open military jacket, sliding it first over the port of his shoulder, then over his left arm. Shiro shakes the limb desperately when it gets caught, trying not to break the kiss, but Keith ruins it anyway by laughing. Shiro grumbles half-heartedly and sits back to remove the offending garment, and it's only when a cool metal hand plants itself on his belly that he realises his own jacket is undone, his undershirt pushed up to his ribs.

“I didn't bring anything with me,” Shiro says suddenly, looking guilty. “I was going to take you back to our room and…”

It makes Keith head spin and he crows internally. Because finally, _finally_ , he thinks this might be it.  
“Check the top drawer,” he says, nodding to the rickety bedside table. He aims for cool, but knows it falls miles short. It doesn't matter though, because Shiro half-scrambles for it, and Keith can feel his weight pressing down as he leans over him. Shiro pauses and laughs, and Keith flushes, because - okay - _maybe_ he might have gone a little hog wild with the Garrison's free protection policy.

“God, what I would have given to see the look on the officer's face when you stopped by commissary.”

“Shut up.”

Shiro drops one of the foils on the table top with a little packet of lube, grinning as he lowers himself to kiss him again.  
“I'll bring something a little better onto the Atlas,” he promises, and suddenly Keith has wild visions of what it would be like to do this with a backdrop of nebulas and supernovas behind them. But then Shiro moves to drop a kiss just under his navel and the thoughts scatter to hone in on the feeling of his lips against his skin. Keith helps him peel his jacket and undershirt away, and he sits up just a little to relieve Shiro of his tank too. Shiro lowers him back down with a kiss, following the path of his jaw to press into the soft flesh of his neck, making Keith shudder.

“How do you want this, baby?” he asks quietly against his pulse.

Keith feels his face heat, because he's thought about it a lot, but saying it out loud is a struggle.  
“Um…”

Shiro presses patient kisses into his skin, down to his shoulder while he waits.

“I… I don't know what I'm…”  
He swallows, and Shiro rubs soothing circles over his ribs with a gentle thumb.  
“I want… I want you to show me how.”

His lips are captured in a soft kiss, a quiet reassurance.  
“I'll look after you,” Shiro promises.

Keith isn't sure what to say to that, but Shiro waits, so he just nods. He watches as Shiro sits back, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers to pull them off in one smooth movement. Keith tries not to stare. He's seen him bare like this plenty of times before, but never with this look of intent, never leaning over him with gentle fingers curled into his waistband. Keith hardly notices him undress him, still trying to catch up with the idea that, yes, this is finally happening. That years of waiting and wanting, at least for him, has come to this moment.

He looks like a young god, looming above him, all Adonis angles and starlit eyes. It's almost intimidating. He's cut from perfection and Keith is… he's just…

“You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” Shiro murmurs, sitting back on his heels.

Keith feels heat rise in his neck, but he's confused by Shiro moving back. He shifts to sit up on his elbows, but a firm hand on his chest halts him.

“Just… give me a moment here.”

Keith sinks back down, uncertain. The hand on his chest goes gentle, trailing over his collarbone featherlight. A thumb brushes over a blush nipple and Keith swallows hard, blood rushing in his ears. His fingers continue their fleeting path, tracing the ridges of muscle over his abdomen. Shiro pauses and smiles as Keith feels his skin jump when he reaches the dip of his hipbone. He leans down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot, and Keith emits an involuntary gasp, quickly biting down on the sound. He doesn't know if he's frustrated or endeared when he feels lips curl against his skin, but he has little time to mull on the thought when he feels the press of his tongue. It's on the edge of embarrassing, how his body betrays him by seizing up and making his fists curl into the bedsheets. Shiro hums his amusement, which only exacerbates the problem, and works his way to the crease of his thigh, where he feels the graze of teeth.

“Sh-Shiro…”  
And it's unfair that he sounds so affected before they've even begun. He worries it doesn't bode well for how long this will last.  
“Please…”

Shiro straightens, reaching over him for the lube and condom left on the bedside. Keith figures it must mean they're at the business end of all of this. He goes to roll on his belly, but a firm, metallic hand on his hip holds him steady.

“No,” Shiro says simply, running circles on his skin with his thumb. “I want to see you.”

The words flood Keith with a sudden wave of nerves. They're too honest, too sincere, and for a moment he panics. Shiro notices, because of course he does, and he pauses to lean down and kiss his lips softly.

“Still okay?” he checks quietly, as if not to startle him.

Keith nods, then feels his breath stutter when a slick finger circles his rim.

“Have you ever touched yourself like this before?” Shiro asks, and Keith hates that the question makes him blush. It takes him a moment to find his voice, but Shiro never rushes him.

“... Yes,” he manages, quiet, avoiding his eyes. “I don't… I'm not really great at it though, I think.”

“Hey.” Metal fingers on his jaw coax his gaze back, and grey eyes reassure him all at once. “We'll figure it out together. Just tell me if it doesn't feel right, okay?”

Keith lets out a held breath.  
“Okay,” he whispers back.

Shiro is meticulous, urging his legs a little wider, touching him so tenderly. He distracts him with a kiss when he finally presses the first finger in, and Keith is surprised when the intrusion doesn't sting.

“You're doing so well, love,” Shiro murmurs, and the praise unfurls the beginning of a soft symphony in his chest. “How does that feel?”

Keith provides his own reassurance with a kiss.  
“Good,” he says quietly, and he's honestly a little relieved it's the truth. “I'm ready for more.”

“In a moment,” Shiro promises.  
He kisses him a little deeper, and Keith can still detect a hint of smoke from the whisky on the back of his teeth and tongue. This time, Keith feels the stretch and his body tenses on instinct. Shiro pulls back to press his lips to the underside of his jaw and his throat.  
“Breathe,” he whispers against his pulse. Keith hadn't realised he'd been holding it.

The discomfort subsides and slowly Keith relaxes into the sensation of Shiro easing him open. Then Shiro crooks his fingers, and the orchestra crashes, the shock reverberating through his body.

“Oh…”

It's nothing like what he expected. Full body and electric. Shiro is his conductor, watching carefully as he touches again in a way that makes his blood sing and his nerves thrum a steady bassline. He almost cries when his fingers slip away and Shiro sits up between his thighs.

“I know baby, I know,” Shiro soothes as he slides his knees under Keith's hips. “Do you still feel alright so far?”

Keith swallows.  
“You're a lot better at that than me,” he says wryly, and Shiro laughs, soft and melodic. He smooths a hand down Keith's thigh, still apparently intent on taking it slow.  
“Is this… good for you?” Keith asks, uncertain. “I… I feel like I'm… I'm just—”

“This is perfect, Keith,” Shiro assures. “Just seeing you like this... If I can make you feel amazing, then that will be more than enough.”  
He mustn't look convinced, because Shiro draws up Keith's leg to plant his foot on the bed and kiss his knee.  
“It doesn't matter how experienced you are. Besides, it's been a really long time for me. You don't have to feel nervous or self-conscious.”

Keith reflects on that a moment. In fact, the last time Shiro would have been with anyone, he probably wouldn't have been much older than he himself now. He doesn't want to consider that too hard, about those who came before. But then a startling thought comes to mind, and it passes his lips before he can filter it.

“This is kinda your first time too, I guess.”

The second he says it, Shiro pauses and Keith's jaw snaps shut with click of teeth. But then Shiro gives a smile that belies his amusement.

“In this body, you mean?”

Keith feels his face burn, and he turns his cheek to the pillow to stare at the wall, mortified. Why would he say that? Why now, at a time like this, would he even utter any mention of the cloning trauma? It's probably the most stupid thing he's ever done in his life.

He feels a hand wrap around his calf, thumb kneading into the muscle there.

“Hey. Hey…” Another kiss is pressed to his knee, reverent. “Look at me.”

Keith can't help but obey, seeing him smile when their eyes meet again. And he's still the vision of something Divine, but on his knees before him on the bed, Shiro looks like a devout man ready for worship. Almost, he thinks fleetingly, as if Keith is the temple at which he has come to pray. It strikes him how vulnerable he feels right now. How safe he feels to be like this with him. No one else.

“In that case,” Shiro continues, “I'm glad it's you.”

Gently, ever so gently, he tightens his grip and lifts, raising the limb just high enough to turn his face and kiss his instep.  
“I kept waiting for the right time for this,” he murmurs. “Then I almost lost you.”  
He kisses the inside of his ankle.

“Shiro…”

“You can have all of me,” he interrupts gently, clearly intent on saying his piece. “If you want it, it's yours. And I'll treasure anything you give me.”

Keith's heart feels too large in his chest.  
“Everything,” he whispers, voice broken. “You can have everything.”

With an almost disbelieving huff, as if _he_ is the one who can't fathom his luck, Shiro hooks his heel over his shoulder with the utmost care. Keith can feel his weight behind the metal palm on his belly, which is a curious discovery, but it's quickly forgotten at the press of something hot and hard into his body. His foot on the bed shifts involuntarily, and he bites his lip when Shiro moves forward only in increments, giving him all the time in the world to adjust, waiting for him to ease and draw breath before he sinks a little deeper. Keith's not surprised to find Shiro is a considerate lover, that his patience is unending, even in this. A thumb brushes tenderly under his eye, and Keith only realises now that his lashes are wet with tears.

“Does it hurt?” Shiro asks, a little fearfully, and knowing he cares is enough to bring a little bubble of laughter to his lips.

“Only a little,” he answers honestly, but he smiles and sees Shiro relax. “Keep going. Please.”

Shallow, careful movements evolve into a smoother, deeper slide until Shiro is leaning over him, drawing the knee over his shoulder close to his chest. With another kiss, he rolls his hips slowly and Keith hiccups a sharp breath. The pain makes way for the start of pleasure and it's like a gradual crescendo that builds in the pit of his belly.

“Like that,” Keith whispers against his lips, before he can ask.

Shiro answers by taking hold of the hand lying palm up on the pillow by his head, curling human fingers between his. He treats him like something delicate and Keith's ego wants to protest, but his heart… his heart wants for more. He's losing himself in the tempo Shiro sets, the slow drag of heat inside him, until suddenly he finds that place that fills his vision with starbursts, the same as before. The one that drives a fierce staccato in his chest and tightens the coil in his core. He bites down on a whimper, but Shiro is quick to dive down and gently suck his bottom lip free.

“It’s just us, baby. No need to be quiet.”  
The words are enough to make him keen with quiet desperation, and Shiro laughs softly.  
“You feel so good, love,” he says sweetly, and it's the encouragement he needs. Keith tests his range of movement under Shiro's body, raising his hips just a little in time to meet the next press in. Shiro chokes, the first crack in his armour, while Keith pushes his head back into the pillow with a groan. He hadn't expected this to feel this good. Not this soon.

“Again. Please, again,” he begs, and Shiro squeezes his hand.

Keith focuses on meeting him on the next thrust, feeling Shiro’s control fade in favour of something faster and firmer. He can hear his breath being punched out of him in time with Shiro's movements, and the litany of “yes” and “please” and “Shiro” that falls from his lips like a song. The tension in his belly builds with the friction between them until the strings break. He falls into full bodied bliss, and the world blooms in brilliant technicolor for the first time since the facility. But Keith can't think too hard on that because he's lost in a feeling that his body feels too small to contain and the soft murmurings of “beautiful” and “perfect” and “mine” that reach his ears.

When he swallows the stars and feels the weight of gravity grounding his body, he realises Shiro has stilled above him.

“Have you…?” he starts, blinking and breathless.

Shiro shakes his head, letting go of his hand to sit up.  
“Not just yet, baby.”

Keith has just enough sense to realise Shiro is drawing back, and only instinct wraps a shaking leg around his waist, pressing the heel into the small of his back.  
“Keep going,” he begs, feeling the minute, surprised stutter in Shiro’s hips as he slides in deeper.

A war wages across Shiro's face as a hand flies to Keith’s hip out of reflex.  
“I can take care of it,” he tries to reason. “I don't want to overwhelm you.”

“Maybe I want you to.”  
But Shiro stays still, uncertain, so Keith wriggles his hips, drawing a hiss out of both of them.  
“I'm not going to break,” Keith assures him.

“I know,” Shiro whispers, testing the give of his flesh under his thumb. “But _I_ might.”

Keith watches him swallow, feels the heavy heat pressed inside of him, and reaches up to pull Shiro down into a kiss, slow and exploratory. It takes a moment, but eventually Shiro starts rocking into him once more, curling their fingers between each other's again on the pillow by his head. He's right — the sensation is almost too much to bear, sending shockwaves through overstimulated nerves. But Keith loves it, this pain beyond the pleasure. Even if he didn't, it would be worth it to hear the way Shiro's breathing changes, feel his fingers tighten in his, have him tuck his face into his neck as he comes, still buried inside him.

Keith can feel the moment Shiro heart starts slowing again, and he seems to come back to his senses enough to kiss his throat shortly after. Keith whimpers, oversensitive, when Shiro slides out of him, his body clamping down as if trying to prevent the loss. Shiro squeezes his hand before letting go.

“I'll clean you up,” he murmurs, and it's only now that Keith notices the mess cooling between them.  
Their options are limited. Shiro sits up to tie off the condom and pads around the shack for a grand total of fourteen seconds before he gives up and grabs his tank top from the discarded pile on the ground and perches himself on the edge of the mattress.  
“I just won't wear it back,” he laughs quietly when Keith wrinkles his nose as he wipes him down.

“There would have been a cloth around here somewhere,” he protests, but Shiro only grins.

“Didn't want to leave you too long.”

“Gross,” he mumbles. He doesn't mean it.

Shiro is meticulous, but he also seems a little nervous. Keith puts it down to the question he has next.  
“How was that for you?” he asks softly, still sitting on the edge of the bed. “And be honest. I want to make sure this is perfect for you.”

Keith slips a hand down the bed to squeeze his thigh.  
“I didn't expect it to be so good,” he confesses. “I thought it would be a little unpleasant the first time, and I was ready for that, but that seems a little stupid now. I should have known you would make it wonderful.”  
Shiro smiles, and so he continues, feeling his face heat.  
“Is that what you wanted though? Just… for next time…”

“We'll try something different next time, discover what works best for us,” he assures, “but this was exactly what I pictured. Having you, having time. It's all I ever wanted.”  
He still seems a little on edge though, and Keith doesn't understand.   
“I guess it's time for my surprise then.”

Keith baulks.  
“That… wasn't it?” he says weakly.

Shiro laughs a little too loud.  
“ _You_ are the one who initiated this.”

Perhaps he's right, but he doesn't have time to defend himself before Shiro is off the bed and sifting through his jacket. Keith finally sits up, curious, but Shiro's hand closes over whatever he's looking for before he can see. When he climbs back onto the bed and kneels in front of him, he doesn't speak right away, and Keith doesn't know what has him so worked up, but now he feels nervous too.

“Keith,” he tries, swallowing. “I know I try to put into words how much you mean to me, and a lot of the time, it just… falls short.”

Keith sits up a little straighter with a frown, but Shiro silences him with a gentle kiss when he opens his mouth to retort.

“Sometimes, I imagine what my life would have been like without you. Would I have ever found the Blue Lion like I was tasked to do? Would I have even had the conviction to leave Earth in the first place with all the other naysayers around me?”  
He takes a deep breath, eyes on the hand that cups Keith's cheek.  
“You said once that your life would have been a lot different without me. But my life would have _ended_ a long time ago without you, even if the others had rescued me from the Garrison medics when I crashed. Whether it was on that desert planet after we first faced Zarkon. Or after I disappeared. I would have been stuck in Black's consciousness forever.”  
Grey eyes meet violet, and Keith's breath catches.  
“Sometimes, I wonder… is this what they mean by fate? Because it really feels like you were destined to be mine.”

The words, too soft, too earnest, are a sweet paralytic drug coursing welcome in his veins.  
“Shiro, I…” But the words won't come easy when his throat tries to close around them. “I would have been no one if it wasn't for you. I was never supposed to find out who I was or go anywhere in life, but then you… You changed everything. You saved me.”

“We saved each other,” Shiro reminds him with a smile.

“Yeah,” he laughs quietly, because there's a tender irony in hearing his words repeated back to him. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

Shiro uncurls his fingers, and when Keith glances down, he feels the cosmos narrow down to the palm of his hand.  
“It's not a proposal,” Shiro explains softly as he picks up the smaller of the two rings. “Not yet. But it's a promise.”  
Keith's vision swims when Shiro takes his left hand and slides the band down his fourth finger.  
“When everything is settled, wherever we end up, I want to be there with you. If you'll let me.”

Keith wipes furiously at his eyes, snatching up the other ring in his hand.  
“Doing something like this after sex is really fucking cheesy, you know?”

Shiro pouts. It's adorable.  
“Well, I planned on doing this first, in fairness.”

“How is that better?”

“Should I take that as a ‘no’ then?”

“Don't be stupid,” Keith grumbles, grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him down to roll onto his chest. With only the barest shake in his hand, he slips the ring onto Shiro's finger, a perfect match of the one he now wears.  
“I… I promise too.”

Shiro smiles, and even in the muted moonlight, it looks radiant.  
“I love you,” he says, filling the spaces between his ribs with something soft and warm.

“I love you too. More than everything in every universe.”

* * *

Keith's eyes fly open with a cry and with a bone deep feeling of loss and loneliness, flashes of goodbyes and tears and white pressed suits. His breath comes out haggard and his surroundings swim, almost as if reality had reset itself a million times in his sleep and was still settling back into its skin.

“It was just a nightmare,” a sweet, familiar voice says beside him, as fingers tangle in his hair.

But wait, he knows this. He's heard this before. He turns his head to the sound and reaches out.  
“Shiro?...”

And feels soft lips press to his, just as he expected.

“I'm right here, baby. Everything is okay. We’re here because of you, do you remember?”  
His fingers slide between his, and the press of the ring he wears against his knuckle is grounding.

“Try to sleep, my love,” he whispers, and it's enough to calm his heartbeat.

Here, in his Abyss dream, he slept, but this time he forces himself to stay awake just a little longer.  
“Shiro,” he mumbles again, curling in close. “We're going to make it. We're going to find a way.”

He feels the smile against his forehead.  
“I know, Keith,” he answers, the quiet rumble in his chest lulling him gently into dreams.

“We always do.”

When they wake again just before dawn and make their way back to the Garrison, rings hidden under gloves and on chains under jackets, Keith feels fortified. He feels a little more ready.

* * *

They're barely minutes back to the base when Shiro receives a call to the conference room, before he can even get a fresh tank.

“I can come with you,” Keith offers.

“Best we don't send too many tongues wagging,” Shiro laughs, desperately trying to smooth out the creases in his jacket.

Keith rolls his eyes, checking down the hallway, before stretching up on his toes to kiss him quickly.

“Call me if you need me.”

Keith takes the interim to ensure everything is in order in their room while he's gone. He's almost disappointed to find it perfectly tidy when he arrives. The distraction would have been welcome. But something out of place does stop him short.

The new uniforms, black and red hanging together, make his heart leap into his throat. He spares a moment to walk over and simply admire them, but then he flushes at the thought that someone had dropped both of these off to an empty room some point between now and last night. Perhaps they really aren't as discreet as they would like to think. Conscious of the weight on his hip, he pulls his mother's blade free from his belt, running his finger over the insignia on its hilt, remembering her words from yesterday, after Shiro's dismissal.

_“I was only ever holding onto it until we saw each other again. It's yours whenever you might need it.”_

He tucks it inside his new boots and allows himself a quick shower. When Shiro arrives, he's just fastening the clasps on his jacket and he hears him pause, then whistle low.

“Turn around for me, baby.”

Keith throws a quirked brow over his shoulder.  
“This isn't a fashion show.”  
But he complies when Shiro walks over and plants his hands on his hips.  
“How did everything go? What did they need you for?”

Shiro's expression falls, and Keith feels his anxiety spike.  
“The Altean pilot - Luca - passed away,” he says, voice heavy, “Allura, Romelle and Coran believe Honerva to be behind it, and the Robeast.”

It's news they don't need. Not so close to launch. He can see the tightness in Shiro's jaw and feel the restlessness in his fingers where he holds him. So he doesn't press, doesn't express his dismay.

“I guess that makes sense,” he says evenly. “At least we know now. Better than leaving still in the dark.”  
Shiro sighs, and Keith sees a little of the tension release.  
“Have a quick shower before you get changed. You'll feel better.”

They're pushing it for time once Shiro is dressed, leaving Keith little chance to admire him back in black, or the way his boots stop a little higher than his to unfairly accentuate his thighs. At least it's enough to distract him from his nerves when they meet the others at the launch pad.

“Looking sharp, team,” Shiro smiles. “I'm proud of how hard you've all worked to get us ready for today.”

Sam is the first to address the enormous send off crowd, the most familiar face to the humans during the ordeal of the last few years. Keith's part comes next.

“In the blink of an eye, the world as we knew it became much larger than we ever thought possible…”

He feels his mother's eyes on him as he speaks, and feels a little steadier.

“And now we rise up to join the fight alongside so many others different from us, but of like minds, to stand firm in the face of tyranny.”

It's a blur, until he's walking up the ramp to Atlas and Krolia touches his arm.  
“You spoke well, Keith,” she says, with a look of pride that warms him all over.

“Only thanks to your help yesterday,” he mumbles.

Krolia scoffs.  
“Don't be so humble.”

Another voice joins hers, a hand taking hold of his to briefly squeeze and let go.  
“You were perfect,” Shiro agrees. “You've grown into an incredible leader.”

Keith fights down the blush that threatens as they make their way to the bridge, eyes scanning over the crew manning their stations. He smiles to his team, where they wait for him, taking a position at the centre, in front of the Captain's console.

“Cleared for take off in ten…”

This is it. Leaving Earth again, but this time with the backing of the planet behind them.

“... five…”

This time with so many more fighting alongside them.

“... three…”

And it's bittersweet, having the opportunity to wonder when they'll next be back.

“... two…”

 _If_ they'll be back.

“... one.”

* * *

Their first target in the liberation effort is an outpost only a few galaxies over. It's a blessedly simple operation to shut down their weapons without any major damage to either side, and the ease in which Atlas, Voltron, the MFEs and the Rebels work together inspires a lot of hope in Keith for their missions to come. Hunk seems to recognise the leader of the base - Lahn - when they join the MFEs, and it's a not so pleasant reminder of all the moments he missed while with the Blades.

Another, far more terrible reminder of his time apart, comes when they investigate a distress signal sent from one of Warlord Lahn's fleet, and Keith finds himself face to face with nightmarish beast intent on killing on sight. The way it moves, teleporting down the hall toward him, is a dreadful reminder of the creatures he fought in the Abyss. Kosmo's quick thinking is the only reason he survives and Keith knows, instinctually, what it is he's seen.

He zeroes in on Lahn when he's teleported back to the cruiser's bridge as its systems reanimate around them, desperate for confirmation.  
“That base you sent this fleet to plunder, was it Warlord Ranveig's?”

Lahn seems taken aback as he gives the answer Keith doesn't want to hear.  
“Yes, it was.”

“Unbelievable.”  
Because suddenly this is more than just a mission; it's _his_ mission. Indirectly or not, he is responsible for this carnage, and that weighs a far too heavy burden down upon him that he must bear.

“Keith, what's going on?” Allura asks, and it snaps him out of the spiral of his guilt, at least for a moment.

He braces himself. At least there is a small comfort in knowing the rest of his team should be safe.  
“The creature on this ship is a superweapon designed to destroy the Galra. And only Galra.”

“Warlord Ranveig would never create such a thing,” Lahn immediately protests.

“Ranveig found the creature in the Quantum Abyss and experimented on it with Lotor's Quintessence,” Keith explains evenly. “He trained it to take out his Galran enemies but he could never control it. The beast couldn't differentiate between adversaries and allies.”

“Wait,” Lance interrupts, “how do you know so much about this super-monster-weapon-thingy?”

It's the one question he doesn't want to answer.  
“Because Krolia and I let it loose so we could escape Ranveig's base.”  
He can't meet anyone's eyes.  
“This is all my fault. I'm sorry.”

“It's what you've wanted from the beginning,” Lahn says coldly. “Something to get rid of the Galra for you.”

It hurts, because maybe once, before he knew everything, it might have been the truth. But not now. Not now that he understands the depth of suffering the Galran people - _his_ people - have been through. Lance rushes to his defence, but Keith drowns it out. He doesn't feel like he's earned it, so he doesn't argue his position. Instead, he tries to figure out the solution.

“Pidge, can you initiate the self destruct protocol?”

If they take down the ship with the beast inside, maybe they'll have a shot at getting away. She gives them two minutes to work with, but even that's too long when the beast forces its way to through to the bridge. They scatter, and Keith grits his teeth when Kosmo is thrown violently from the fray with a whimper. When he sees Lance recover the wolf while they make their escape, he lunges for Lahn. The team gets through, but the door slams in his face, and Keith feels his stomach sink. Two Galra soldiers, trapped in a room with an engineered Galra killer. They're as good as dead if Keith can’t get them through that door _immediately_.

For what it's worth, his team tries their hardest to save him. He can hear Hunk and Lance firing relentlessly at the door, and Pidge attempts to override the systems that keep them locked down. Keith tries to keep the beast at bay, but Lahn seems to give in to despair and chooses to go down fighting.

“Victory or death!”

But Keith won't allow it. He lunges, and as if sensing the dire situation, he feels his bayard hum in his grip. He doesn't know what to expect, but he trusts, and the sword transforms into a plasma cannon in his hands. He wastes no time firing, holding the creature back and sending it through the wall. When he turns back to check on Lahn, he’s relieved to find him unharmed, but a little of his frustration seeps through.

“Do you trust me yet?”

He can't wait for his answer. This might be their only shot.

“Paladins! Clear the hallway,” he shouts over the comms. “We're coming through!”  
He fires again, blasting a hole through the door like a hot knife through butter.  
“Let's go!”

Keith knows they're still in trouble when Pidge's voice comes out panicked, and he realises they won't make it to the cargo bay before she even speaks as much. The all too familiar sound of mass suddenly displacing empty space and the smell of ozone through his helmet tells then they have unwanted company. His heart pounds, his mind going into overdrive, but when the bayard goes warm in his hands, he acts on instinct and pulls the trigger one last time, letting the vacuum of space draw them out through the newly minted hole in the ship's hull.

The blast that follows throws them all into wild directions, but the Lions are there to collect them, whisking them away to safety. Keith takes a moment to simply catch his breath on his hands and knees, before he stands and helps Lahn to his feet, heading for the cockpit.

“Paladins, report,” he calls out over the comms.  
Four groans answer him, which is a good enough start.  
“Who has Kosmo?”

“Yellow Lion reporting wolf aboard,” Hunk replies, and Keith breathes a sigh of relief.

“How is he?” he asks, having not forgotten the beating he copped at the hands of his fellow-Abyss born foe.

“Sore,” Hunk says, and Keith winces. “I don't think he'll be teleporting over to you just yet. But don't worry! I'll fly extra gentle!”

“Thanks Hunk,” Keith says quietly. “Let's get back to Lahn's base to report.”

He removes his helmet then, to wipe at the sweat on his brow, still trying to calm his heartbeat. He'll need to patch in with Atlas in a moment, but a voice beside him gives him pause.

“Are you not going to replace my shackles?”

Keith frowns up at Lahn.  
“No,” he says simply.

“I could attack you and take command of the Black Lion.”

“Maybe.”

The _you won't_ goes unspoken, and after a hard stare, Lahn’s expression suddenly looks tired, and he moves to sit by the wall, silent. Keith's focus returns to the console, and he works on establishing communication with the rest of the crew.

“Atlas, this is Voltron. Do you copy?”

There's a moment of silence, then a relieved voice comes through the line.  
_“Voltron, this is Atlas. We copy. It's good to hear from you. You went quiet on us for a while there.”_

Shiro’s voice is like a balm, and can't wait to get back and let it wrap him up when they get back.  
“We ran into an unexpected problem, but it's been neutralised. Unfortunately we don't have any additional crew with us like we'd hoped, but no major casualties either.”

_“I'm just glad you're all safe. Do you have anything else to report?”_

Keith mulls it over for a moment, whether it's worth reminding Krolia of the choice they made when they met.

_“Keith?”_

But he can't lie. He can't worry Shiro like this either when they are bound to diverge paths again before this is all over.  
“Tell the Blades we found Warlord Ranveig's weapon. But that it's been destroyed.”

_“I'm sure they'll be glad to hear it. Processing on our end is all done, so we should be ready to take off once the team arrives.”_

“We'll be there as soon as we can.”

* * *

Keith entrusts Allura with escorting Lahn back to the command centre, running directly to the Yellow Lion as the ramp deploys. Hunk shadows carefully as Kosmo limps his way down. His tail thumps against Hunk when he spies him and limps a little faster and no, Keith _isn't_ tearing up. It's just a little sweat from his brow and he'd really appreciate it if Hunk stopped looking at him like _that_. He crouches down - not as far as he once had to - to wrap his arms around the wolf's neck, burying his face in his fur.

“Good boy,” he whispers. “Although I think we're going to have to talk about your recklessness.”

Kosmo whines in his ear, and Keith hastily scrubs at his eyes before standing.  
“Thanks Hunk,” he says. “I'll be with you guys soon. I'm just going to make sure he's comfortable first.”

“No problems, buddy,” Hunk says kindly, walking backwards to join the others. “I'll whip up some Kosmo-friendly treats just for him later!”

The way Kosmo's ears perk at that tells Keith it might be a little too late to teach the wolf not to have favourites on the team.

Krolia finds Krolia on the way back from the Atlas, all wide eyed and fear that looks so out of place on her.  
“The one with the glasses—”

“Veronica, mom,” Keith interjects.

“— said you encountered Ranveig's beast.”

“Yes, and it's gone now,” he says, trying to put her concerns to bed. “It's been destroyed.”

But Krolia grabs him by his shoulders as he tries to pass by, assessing him.  
“Are you hurt?”

“I'm fine, mom.”  
The concern doesn't fade from her eyes though, so Keith sighs and softens his tone, reaching up to touch her hand on his shoulder.  
“Promise.”  
He looks away though, unsure of how to deal with his guilt.  
“The fleet, though…”

“We did what we needed to survive,” Krolia says firmly, before he can finish the thought. “I know the Blades have taught you about mission above self, but I'm telling you now that your life deserves priority. No matter how dire, you always try to find the solution where you live, understand me?”

Keith swallows, knowing she must have caught whispers of his deeds she should never have heard.  
“Yes mom,” he says quietly. “I understand.”

* * *

Lahn pledges his allegiance to the coalition again, and Shiro seems satisfied that their first target in their liberation mission has been a resounding success. But Pidge finds something troubling in the fleet's datafiles. Something that speaks of an unstoppable beast of metal with power beyond description, and they all know, deep down, that it's the same as the one they fought on Earth. Allura voice is troubled when she speaks.

“Shiro, we need to adjust our mission’s objective and find out where these things are coming from.”

But Shiro is reluctant to abandon a mission they've only just started when they're working off a hunch, and Keith can understand. The coalition can't abandon its task now, and destroy the tentative trust they've only just started building. There may be greater threats waiting for them, but civil unrest can be the difference in a battle for peace. He knows he needs to step up.

“We'll split up. The Atlas will continue working with the Galra while Voltron searches for Honerva and her beasts.”

He can see Shiro warring between the answer he wants to give and the one he should.  
“You'll be out there on your own, without backup.”

So Keith tries to reassure him with a smile.  
“We'll be okay,” he says gently, and he sees the affirmation in his team's faces. “Voltron is stronger now, more than ever.”

Any argument in Shiro dissipates at that, though Keith can tell he's still concerned. After a moment, he swallows, then nods.  
“I can tell,” he smiles, but it looks a little pained to Keith. “You've come so far as a team.”

The others don't seem to see what he sees, so they beam back to him.

“We'll leave in the morning, once everyone has had a chance to rest after the fight today,” Keith says, eyes still firmly on Shiro. “It'll be better for morale if the Atlas crew knows where we're going ahead of time too.”

“Yeah,” Lance pipes up, “I'd like to spend some time with Veronica before we head off.”

The siblings shoot grins between each other, and Keith sees Allura and Coran lock eyes across the room.

“A family dinner with Katie before you all leave would be nice,” Sam agrees, and with that, it seems the decision is agreed.

“Take the rest of the evening,” Shiro instructs with a smile. “We'll converge in twelve vargas for departure.”

There's an underlying sense of nervousness Keith can feel when the crew disperses, but spirits are high. Keith hangs back, because he knows as a leader, the dismissal doesn't extend to him; there's still a lot more planning that has to happen before they get off the ground. With Shiro and Iverson, they make decisions on their flight paths, communication and any contingencies. Krolia joins them to offer her support and then strong-arms them all into wrapping up when Keith's stomach starts growling.

“Are you sure about this?” Shiro asks softly after they bid everyone good night and it's just them walking through the halls of the Atlas. Keith barely has the chance to open his mouth to respond when Shiro seeks to clarify. “I know you're capable, that's not what I'm asking.”

“Then what, Shiro?” he asks, but it's gentle - a genuine question - rather than an accusation. Shiro still winces.

“Just…”  
Keith waits, and Shiro sighs.  
“It's stupid.”

That makes Keith frown, and he steps in front of him to stop short there in the hallway, taking hold of his hands.  
“Nothing you have to say is ever stupid.”

And Shiro closes his eyes, listing forward to press his forehead to Keith's.  
“Just… I know I've been in Atlas for a while now, but you've always stayed close and this will be the first time we've been properly separated since I came back and I'm…”  
He swallows, and Keith feels his throat tighten as Shiro starts toying with the ring hidden under his gloves. With a stretch, he spares him from finishing his sentence with a kiss, abandoning the unspoken agreement between them to keep their affection behind closed doors.

“I know,” he murmurs by his lips. “We'll be back before you know it though. You'll be so busy liberating the people who need you that you won't even realise I'm gone.”

“That's not true,” Shiro refutes immediately, letting go of one of his hands to snake his arm around him and pull him in close. “I'll feel every second.”

“Don't be dramatic,” Keith growls, bunting his forehead against his a little harder. Shiro laughs, but there's no joy in it. He seems content to just hold him a moment until he speaks again.

“They're going to realise I really have no idea what I'm doing without you here to back me up.”

Keith startles at that, pulling back. The words are nonsensical to him. For years, Keith has looked to him for guidance. Every day he fights with his own imposter syndrome, but Shiro… Surely not.  
“You are an incredible commander, Shiro,” he says, heartfelt. “There is no one better to be leading this mission than you.”  
A quick hand covers Shiro’s mouth when he takes a breath to retort.  
“No one,” Keith reiterates firmly. “And maybe we'll have to figure out how to lead without each other for a little while - both of us - but you have a great team on the Atlas. They're with you one-hundred percent and they'll support you. You don't have to be this... ultimate pillar of strength for the entire mission. You can lean on others. That's why they're here.”

Shiro's eyes go soft, and Keith pulls his hand away when he feels a kiss pressed to his palm.  
“This is what I mean,” he says quietly. “This is why I'm going to miss you so much.”

His arm stays around him when Shiro leads them back to the Captain's quarters, but he waits until the door behind them slides shut before he kisses him again. Keith glances to the corner where Kosmo sleeps, undisturbed by their arrival. But then he feels the clasps of his armour go slack, and it spurs him into gear to work on removing Shiro's jacket. His undersuit has already been worked down to his hips by the time Keith reaches the buckle of his belt, and he struggles to play catch up. Shiro doesn't make it any easier, sucking bruising kisses to his neck and collarbone that he'll have to hide in the morning. Keith can feel the intent behind it lighting him up, but then his body betrays him in the worst way. He tries to cover up the yawn, but Shiro stills, then presses a soft, apologetic kiss to a spot on his clavicle that's already blooming in red.

“You've had a physical day,” Shiro says, laughing when Keith doesn't even bother to hold back a petulant whine. “Shower, then bed.”

“But—”

“It’s late,” he interrupts, before he can argue.  
He kisses the pout waiting for him when he straightens. “And you need your rest. Come on.”

“No…” Keith protests childishly.

He makes the journey to the bathroom as difficult as physically possible, leaning his weight into his heels when Shiro tugs on his hands and squirming when he tries to pick him up. He gives a very unconvincing grumble when Shiro succeeds, slinging him over his shoulder to march them both into the bathroom. Keith attempts to distract him when sets him down to finish undressing them both, and he can tell with smug satisfaction that Shiro is on the edge of frustrated by the time he backs him into the shower. What he doesn't expect however, is for firm hands to pin his hips against the tiles or for Shiro to drop to his knees in front of him, and suddenly all he knows is the heat of his mouth and the slide of his tongue. He grips onto snow white hair, under no illusions Shiro is the only thing keeping him upright as he single mindedly brings him to orgasm at a devastating pace. He blinks, dazed, as Shiro gets to his feet with a smug look. Keith is still trying to catch up with what just happened to him as tender fingers work his hair into a lather.

“Wha…?”

“You tend to fall asleep right after you come,” Shiro grins, kissing the tip of his nose.

_Bastard._

But no matter how he tries to fight it, he's starting to doze on Shiro's shoulder by the time he’s turned off the faucet and wrapped a towel around him. Shiro quickly gives up on trying to dress him, and Keith falls asleep to feeling cotton sheets and bare skin against his.

* * *

When he wakes, before their alarm, Keith notices two things. One, that Shiro is still fast asleep. But two, that not all of him is. Even if they weren't naked, Shiro's morning wood would still be obvious at this proximity, pressed firm against his back. With a huff of a laugh, Keith wonders what it is he's dreaming about, but he has some guesses when Shiro nuzzles into the nape of his neck and the grip around his waist tightens with a hum. Keith decides a little payback for the night previous is only fair.

He shifts his hips, testing, and grins when Shiro's breathing changes and he moves unconsciously to the source of friction in his sleep with a soft mumble. In the corner, Keith sees Kosmo stir and he goes still out of shame. The wolf lifts his head and Keith _swears_ he sees him roll his eyes with the full weight of canine judgement before he quietly vanishes into thin air. He'll have to apologise later. When he doesn't have more distracting issues to attend to.

Regaining his nerve, Keith refocuses to press back a little more purposefully, feeling Shiro twitch with interest behind him, before grinding into him with a roll of his hips.

“Mmph?”

Keith can’t hold back the laughter that bursts forth when he hears Shiro start to wake behind him. Freeing himself from his grip, Keith pushes the sheets away to roll Shiro onto his back and straddle his hips.

“Good morning,” he grins down to him, planting his hands on his ribs as Shiro blinks up to him, barely awake and confused.

“Baby?” And then, when Keith grinds against him again, “oh, Jesus...”

Keith watches his eyes squeeze close for a moment, his throat working as he swallows.  
“Seems like you have something that needs taking care of,” he teases.  
He leans forward to gently tug on the chain around his neck, until the ring on it rests in the hollow of his throat.  
“We have time,” he says quietly, assuring him before the question comes. “Please.”

Shiro is still bleary-eyed when he looks up to him, but he runs a palm up Keith's thigh and nods, prosthetic hand thudding clumsily for the nook above the bed. With a grin, Keith rises on his knees to grab the arm, hugging it to his chest as he grabs the little bottle of lube he was blindly searching for. He's perhaps a little too hasty when he works himself open, but his own fingers feel nowhere as good as Shiro's. That, and watching him slowly falling asleep under him makes Keith impatient. The stretch when he starts working Shiro inside of him burns all the way up his spine, but it's worth it to see his eyes fly open and for him to scrabble to grip his thighs, as if it might slow him down.

“Shit, Keith,” he gasps. “God, are you sure you're ready? You feel so—”  
He groans when he sinks down another inch, and Keith lets out a breathless laugh.

“Wanna - hah - wanna feel you while I'm gone,” he manages, even when it feels like the air is slowly being squeezed out of his lungs.

The fingers on his thighs tighten.  
“Go slow,” Shiro implores. “For both of us. Please.”

Keith stills, and Shiro breathes a sigh of relief. He uses the pause to steady his breath and to take in the body beneath him. He traces a finger over a scar that carves in an arc from rib to hip, time already working to fade it to pale silver. It'll be one that will disappear entirely with the grace of a few more years, Keith can tell. He glances up to Shiro, but his expression is steady as he watches him. Gone are the insecurities he found in the quiet of the bunk in the Black Lion. His skin still quivers under his touch, but Keith can tell it's purely sensation, and not out of shame. He takes his time mapping his scars, from ones jagged, like claws ripping into the vulnerable gaps of his defences, to precise lines cut from blades. Scorch marks. Teeth. Punctures. Some are already on their way to a slow oblivion with the first, but others, like the scar across the bridge of his nose, are scored so deep into his flesh, that they seem etched into his very soul, like they'll never leave. Shiro squeezes his thighs as they start to tremor.

“Can I move?” Keith whispers, letting out a soft sound of reprieve when Shiro nods. He holds his breath as he sinks down further, releasing it with a soft curse when he bottoms out.

“Feeling okay, baby?” And Keith can hear the strain in his voice behind the concern.

“Y-yeah,” he answers, giving himself a moment to adjust. “It's just a lot… _more_ than last time.”  
He doesn't miss the way Shiro's eyes flick to his hand as he presses it to his own belly, or the way his breath catches when Keith rocks forward experimentally.  
“It's a deeper feeling like this.”

Shiro swallows hard, and the grip on his thighs lessens to press soothing circles into the muscle there with his thumbs.  
“I know,” he says as he meets his eyes again, voice low. “But go as slow as you need. You're in control, okay?”

It's the spark that lights the gunpowder in his veins. Keith grins, nodding as he rolls his hips with a little more purpose, feeling smug when Shiro bites back a groan. He shifts his knees, squeezing at Shiro's sides for purchase, before lifting himself up and easing back down. It's a slow, molten slide that threatens to steal his breath away. One that succeeds on the next when he seats himself a little more forcefully, pleasure shooting through him like a live current. He gasps, and Shiro makes a wounded sound that makes him pause.

“You're going to be the second death of me.”

Perhaps it’s a tasteless choice of words, given all they've been through, but Keith has always loved the unexpectedly morbid edge to his humour, and now is no exception.  
“Should I stop? Need me to call Black?” he asks with a breathless laugh.

“Absolutely not.”

It sets the tone then, with Keith moving against him with an increasingly confident pace until his vision is spotted with pinpricks of white and his thighs are burning. When the protest his muscles put up starts warping just onto the wrong side of failure, Shiro reads him and lifts his hips to pick up the slack. It catches Keith off-guard, stunning him into stillness, and Shiro takes his advantage to sit up, holding Keith secure in his lap with a hand splayed across his back, the other fisted in the sheets for leverage as he drives up into him again. Keith chokes on a breath, gasping out his name, and the friction of Shiro's body sliding against his is almost unbearable. He whimpers when he comes between them, and it turns into an unrestrained moan when Shiro's hips stutter almost immediately and warmth floods low through his belly over and over. Shiro seems to come back to himself with a panic when Keith's hand slides between them to rest on his stomach again, squirming at the alien feeling.

“Shit, Keith, I'm so sorry. I was gonna—”

But Keith silences him with a kiss - their first for the morning - and it's stale and gross from sleep, but he savours it all the same.  
“Don't ruin it. It's fine. I like it.”

The blush that crosses Shiro's face only makes it better.  
“You're too much sometimes,” he mumbles, burying his face in the sweat-sheened juncture of his neck. “Let's get you cleaned up.”

* * *

Keith keeps their public goodbyes brief, lest his emotions get the better of him. But in the air, Kosmo stays close, as if he senses the hollow ache Keith feels. He wonders if maybe it was a little selfish to bring him along when he's still recovering from Ranveig's weapon, but he senses no complaint from the wolf, and he only seems to improve every day.

They're three days out from Atlas when the first argument sparks, and honestly Keith is a little impressed. In days gone by, it would have taken barely three minutes for tensions to snap, but they endure eleven star systems before Allura voices her discontent.

_“Perhaps we should set our heading for the Altean colony.”_

It's not the first time the suggestion has been posed, and Keith worries it's only a matter of time before she wears the others down.  
“We talked about this,” he says, quiet but firm. “To get to the colony, we would have to travel through the Quantum Abyss.”

He receives backup from Pidge.  
_“Plus, Kolivan said the colony no longer exists.”_

 _“But there will be clues there,”_ Allura replies, exasperated. _“Something to go off of.”_

Keith tries not to let Allura's frustration become an echo chamber to his own. Instead he tries to appeal to her sense of reason.  
“Travelling through that abyss was one of the most harrowing experiences of my life,” he says emphatically. “A single misstep could turn a six-month journey into a ten-year journey.”

Even thinking about it now seems utterly surreal. The fact that he aged two years while they stayed the same. The time he got to spend with his mother, learning about each other, alone. The bond that was forged slowly to mend both their hearts… but also how they had to fight to survive every step of the way, relying on each other.

“The creatures, the environment… everything in there wants you dead.”  
Kosmo whines beside him and Keith amends with a reassuring smile.  
“Except you,” he says, voice softening, rubbing the spot between his ears he likes best.

_“I'm tired of hearing what we can’t do and what we don't know.”_

_“Allura,”_ Lance's voice comes gently, _“we just want to make the best decisions—”_

 _“The Alteans were my_ _people,”_ Allura snaps. _“And the last of them are being exploited as soldiers in somebody else's war. You don't understand.”_

But Lance's voice stays soft.  
_“I understand what it feels like to see someone I care about hurt so much.”_

In that moment, Keith can tell he truly loves her, beyond the foolish little crush he's been nursing since the day she stumbled from the cryopod into his arms. More than a prize, she means everything to him, and Keith finally thinks that's something they both can understand. He hears Allura sigh over the comms, and it's like the fight leaves her.

_“I'm sorry, Lance.”_

Keith feels ill equipped to deal with any relationship drama, let alone one he is not party to. He barely contains his audible relief when Hunk - ever their remarkable diplomat - suggests they adjust their heading to Olkarion. It makes sense. It's close by, and the wealth of knowledge the Olkari hold means that even if they don't have information the coalition can use, they might just have technology that can find it for them. Pidge is enthusiastic in her support and Keith smiles, knowing the soft spot she has for their friends there. He can imagine her starry-eyed look as she ponders the new technology waiting for them, and laughs under his breath when Lance confesses his utter confusion at the scientific language she uses. Keith doesn't understand either though. Not that he'd ever admit it.

But even with majority support, Keith doesn't want to proceed without knowing everyone is on board.  
“Allura,” he says gently, sensitive to the turmoil she battles with, “what do you think?”

He can hear the conflict in her voice.  
_“Perhaps a trip to Olkarion is best.”_

Hunk cheers, but Keith makes a note to speak to her later, privately. It's what Shiro would do.

Pidge hails Olkarion, but the only response they hear is static. While the team muses about distance and delays and distractions, Keith feels a quiet unease settle under his skin. He knows his time with the Blades has made him somewhat of a cynic, always jumping to worst case scenarios, so he keeps his thoughts to himself. It would do the team little good if he spoke every doomsday thought that came to his mind. Still, haste, he feels, is key. On his command, they come together as Voltron to speed up their journey, crossing galaxies in mere minutes.

What awaits them when they reach Olkarion's system does little to alleviate his fears. It's been years since Keith has come face to face with a Weblum, and he struggles to remember just how he stayed alive the first time. Hunk has the benefit of a little less time distortion, but after he butchers one of Coran's rhymes, Keith realises that apparently won't work to their advantage anyway, and they have to scramble. The Weblum is hardly interested in them when they move out of its path, but Keith doesn't relax just yet.

 _“Where is that Weblum going?”_ Allura asks.

Pidge confirms the worst.  
_“According to my calculations, it's headed toward…”  
_ Keith winces at her pause.  
_“Olkarion…”_

“Then we better get there first.”

Comfort, a hope that he's wrong, doesn't come when they reach the surface of Olkarion. The once flourishing metropolis of the capital lays wasted and abandoned, and the lush forests, barren and ashen. It hits all of them, but none harder than Pidge, and it hurts to give them order for them to keep to their roles as Paladins, investigate and search for survivors.

“There is only one thing capable of this,” Allura says, barely holding back her misdirected venom.

“Well,” Keith says softly, turning back to face Black, “let's confirm it.”

They have precious little time before the Weblum arrives, and so they split up. Keith takes to the air while the others search at ground level. The scars of battle etched into the planet's surface echo those on Earth after their encounter with the first Robeast, and the reports that come back to him only stack the evidence higher. But the news that the Quintessence from Olkarion's core has been drained is an unexpected blow. It's becoming far too clear that this is Honerva's doing, and that the gap of reasonable doubt is fusing shut.

They don't have the answers to why Olkarion was a target, and Keith knows that weighs heavily on everyone. But they just don't have time, even if a gargantuan planet-eater wasn't headed their way.

When Hunk gives them their ten minute warning, Pidge and Allura resist, insisting they have vital information within their grasp. Keith grits his teeth, knowing they're playing with fire. Making a choice between the assured safety of his team and a thin thread of hope that might not lead anywhere seems easy enough. He knows what's logical… but he also trusts the gut instinct of his team. He wishes he had Atlas, Shiro, to provide him with reassurance, but he fights the feeling down. He promised Shiro they would be okay on their own.

“We'll buy you as much time as we can,” he tells Allura, praying the words won't doom them all.

But fighting against the Weblum's charge is like fighting against inevitability. Even when the Blue Lion joins them, their impact seems miniscule. They can hardly slow the beast down, let alone divert its path, and all Keith can think of is Pidge, the only living creature on the surface, alone. Pidge, who so furiously marched up to him in the Garrison cafeteria on Earth. Pidge, who shouted and cried when she heard how he had put his life on the line for the team at Naxzela.

He understands a little better now.

Keith's heart races furiously in his chest until he sees the Green Lion, giving the order to fall back the second he knows she's clear. It's only a matter of moments later that the Weblum casts its aim to Olkarion, and the planet breaks apart before them. It's terrifying and magnificent and achingly sad all at once.

Lance is the first to speak.  
_“It's… all gone.”_

 _“I'm sorry, Pidge,”_ Allura says softly.

“I wish we could’ve done more,” Keith adds. He knows what this planet meant to her. What the Olkari did to help her connect with the Green Lion and to the universe around her. It had to be like losing a second home. He only wishes they had been here when the robeast fell.

 _“Thanks everyone,”_ Pidge replies, and Keith hates that he can tell she's crying, even when her voice doesn't waver.

Hunk, as always, knows exactly what to say.  
_“If you think about it, this isn't really the end of Olkarion. Weblums eating dead planets is just the first step in a process that leads to growth of new stars, planets and galaxies.”_

 _“The old gives way to the new.”  
_ After a moment's pause, Pidge's voice comes again, renewed and focused.  
_“We need to contact the Atlas.”_

 _“Why?”_ Allura asks.

 _“Because it turns out the Olkari weren't done teaching us a few things,”_ Pidge says, and there's pride there. _“They showed me a way to track the Robeasts. Their information is going to save_ billions _of lives.”  
_ She relays the visions Olkarion showed to her; the discovery made by the engineers that the Robeast had escaped their notice through the use of wormholes and - quite disturbingly - the mech's departure with the Olkari cubes.  
_“I think I can track the energy signature of the wormhole jumps to give us an accurate map of the Robeast's movements.”_

 _“Yeah, Pidge!”_ Lance whoops.

“Good work down there,” Keith says softly. “Ryner would be proud.”

Pidge takes a moment to respond.  
_“... Thanks. I'm going to make her sacrifice mean something.”_

“Let's continue the sweep of this quadrant while Pidge works on the tracker,” he instructs. “Depending on how much progress she can make in the next varga or so, we'll contact Atlas then with as much info as possible.”

But Pidge exceeds all their expectations, channelling her grief into a highly detailed program that's ready before Keith has a chance to check in. And the results… they're a shock to them all.

 _“Oriande,”_ Allura repeats, horrified. _“I don't understand. The guardian…”_

 _“We'll figure this out Allura,”_ Lance says softly. _“I promise.”_

Keith knows he has to stay pragmatic, lest they fall prey to their emotions again.  
“Let's hail Atlas. Allura, can you open a line for us?”

_“On it now.”_

“Pidge, are you up for this?”

 _“I'll, um… I'll let you guys take the lead on this one,”_ she says, and Keith nods.

“That's okay. You've done a lot for us today. Take a breather.”

He winces when his helmet is filled with high pitched feedback, and the other Paladins voice their protest.

_“Sorry, sorry!”_

“Allura, what was that?” he asks while Kosmo whimpers beside him.

_“I'm not sure. Maybe some interference somewhere between us and Atlas? The connection is established now at any rate.”_

“Okay. I'll try hailing now,” he says, shooting Kosmo an apologetic look as he settles to lay on his feet.  
“Atlas, this is Voltron. Do you copy?”

Unlike Olkarion, the response they receive is immediate, and Keith feels a tension he didn't realise he was carrying dissipate.  
_“We copy you, Keith,”_ Shiro's honeyed voice answers, and Keith can't help but smile when his face appears on the screen before him.  
_“It's good to hear from you.”_

 _“Hey,”_ Lance protests, _“we're here too!”_

_“It's good to hear from all of you, Lance.”_

As much as he'd like to simply talk for a moment, he knows they have to stay on task.  
“We have a development on the Robeasts,” he says, and he sees Shiro's expression sober.

 _“Let me call the crew.”  
_ He disappears for a moment, and Keith knows they'll have just a few minutes at most when he returns before his team assembles.

“Just you there?” Keith asks lightly, but there's an edge of concern.

_“We're cruising for the next two vargas between targets. Everyone is taking a recreational hour.”_

Keith frowns.  
“And still you're at the Bridge?”

_“Someone has to be.”_

“I hope you're not overworking yourself there…”  
He sees the first of Shiro's crew file in hurriedly behind him and he quickly falls silent. This isn't a personal call. He lets Allura spearhead the delivery of their news, and with Pidge's program transferred to the Atlas’ systems, they organise with Coran to rendezvous at the Baltuf Nebula.

“See you soon,” Keith signs off.

He plugs in the coordinates Coran sends through and shares them with the other Lions, sitting back in his chair with a tired sigh. At his feet, Kosmo sits up and nudges his thigh, before looking out the window. Keith follows his gaze to the Green Lion and hums a quiet agreement, reaching to scratch behind his ear. He opens a private line, relieved when it's accepted straight away.

“Hey.”  
Pidge avoids his eyes on the screen.  
“You've got incoming.”  
Kosmo flashes away beside him, appearing on the screen to lap at Pidge's cheek, prompting a short sound of surprise and a brief smile from the Green Paladin.  
“How are you holding up?”  
When she just shrugs, Keith feels his heart sink.  
“We'll find the refugees you saw Ryner save,” he pledges quietly.

She nods, rubbing Kosmo's head, and Keith worries for a moment that he won't get anything out of her. But then she finally speaks.  
_“Thanks for giving me a chance back there. You didn't try to tell me to leave. You just let me investigate. I really appreciate it.”_

“Pidge,” he smiles, “if there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that when you have a gut feeling, we should all listen to it.”

It's enough to evoke another little smile, even as she continues to watch Kosmo resolutely.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried though,” he says, somber. “It made me think about how you reacted to Matt telling you what happened during Naxzela.”

Pidge freezes.  
_“Look, about that—”_

“Don't even think about apologising,” Keith interrupts. “I think I'm starting to get why you were so angry. What you did today was incredibly brave, but I don't think I could have forgiven myself if you had got hurt trying to save everyone else.”

Pidge hesitates, then finally, she meets his eyes.  
_“... You thought you were saving lives,”_ she says, and there's realisation in her eyes. _“You made a calculation and decided the lives Voltron could save would outweigh those_ you _could.”_

Keith swallows and nods.  
“But that's not what Voltron does,” he says firmly. “I know that now, thanks to you. Thanks to Shiro and the team. We need each other, and no one's life is more or less important than the next. There is always another solution.”

Pidge bites her lip.  
_“What if one day, there isn't?”_

It's a question that weighs heavily on his heart.  
“We've made it this far,” he says gently. “Let's hope that day never comes.”

* * *

The team are sleeping in the makeshift bunks in their Lions while Keith dozes in his chair when the Atlas unexpectedly makes contact again.

 _“Change of plans,”_ Shiro's voice announces while he tries to blink the sleep from his eyes. _“There was a miscalculation in our position. New rendezvous coordinates incoming now.”_

“Oh.” The destination is far closer than the first. “Does that mean we'll be seeing you a little earlier than expected?”

_“Affirmative. We expect to arrive shortly after you.”_

“Roger that.”

He's a little disappointed when the line disconnects then, but he reminds himself that Shiro can't exactly use Atlas tech to check in on him just because he misses him.

 _It's been four days,_ he tells himself. _Get a grip._

The new coordinates are met with confusion when the others wake one by one, but Keith takes the opportunity to nap while Allura confirms with Atlas. When they reach their new destination though, Keith can't deny that he feels a little uneasy.

 _“Anyone else find it odd that Shiro changed the rendezvous point to this place?”_ Hunk asks as they land on the volcanic wasteland.

Pidge's face flashes up on his screen while Keith frowns at their surroundings.  
_“I'm reading high CO_ _2_ _and low oxygen in the atmosphere. We'll need our suits to breathe if we go out there.”_

It's not exactly surprising, giving what he sees out of his window.

 _“I'm not going out there,”_ Hunk shoots flatly, just as Keith's scanners ping quietly.

“They're here,” he says, looking up to the visage of the Atlas looming overhead.  
“Atlas, we have a visual.”

Except, that's all it is - a visage. The trick falls away to reveal the Galra cruiser concealed above. It's like a shot of adrenaline administered directly into his veins.

“Paladins, get airborne immediately! This is a trap!”

But no effort valiant enough will override the advantage the ship has over them. They let their guard down, Keith realises, and someone was there to capitalise. it only takes a split second for the gravity beam to pin them down.

“Emergency ejection!” Keith orders.

He pauses only long enough to tell Kosmo to stay and hide. He hates to leave him, but without the benefit of a life support system, he can't know how long the wolf will survive in the unforgiving environment outside.  
“I'm coming back,” he promises, throat tight.  
When he sees four jetpacks in front of him, he ejects too, sprinting and gliding for cover while they try to reach Atlas under heavy fire.

“The Atlas isn't receiving our communications!” Pidge yells.

It's not enough to simply hide in the scorched woodlands. Whoever is out there didn't simply come for the Lions, and Keith can't help but feel it's personal when a drone comes in after them. It seems they've gone to extreme lengths too. Even Pidge's attempts to override their systems falls short. Pinned down, Keith goes old fashioned, waiting for Allura to draw the drone's attention before he disables it with a flying bayard blade straight through its centre. Pidge gets to work on it immediately, and the news isn't good.

“This is Galra tech but it looks like it's been infused with Olkari elements.”

It only gets worse. As Pidge siphons through the specs of the drone, it becomes quickly apparent that their enemy has learned how to track them through the protocols integrated into their armour and bayards.

“Can't we just… turn our suits off or something?” Lance asks uneasily.

Pidge's answer is blunt.  
“Negative. And if the drone had our encryption protocol, then so does that cruiser and anyone on it.”

It's a hunt, Keith realises, and they're the game.

“If we want to avoid detection, then we need to lose our suits and our bayards,” she concludes.

Panic ensues. Keith can't blame them. They're alone, without Atlas, without the Lions. And now they need to abandon their last vestige of protection, on a planet where even the air itself will slowly kill them. But he is the leader, and he needs to come up with a solution.

“How long can we survive without the suits, Pidge?” he asks, trying to stay practical.

“There's a lot of variables, physical exertion, red blood cell count, I—”

“Worst case scenario.”

She hesitates, closing the holograms from her suit.  
“I'd say about eighty-two dobashes, given we're all in reasonable health.”

“Enough time to make it back to the Lions then?”

“I guess,” Allura muses, “but the Lions have been captured. It will be dangerous.”

Keith sighs.  
“I know. But I think they're after _us_ , not the Lions. That's why I'm going to draw their search away while the rest of you make a break for it.”

He tries not to wince when he catches Pidge's eye, but it's Hunk that protests.  
“I'm not sure we should be splitting up.”

“I get that, but we're in a pinch here, and at least the Lions will afford us some protection. But I'm open to your suggestions.”  
It's not heated - a genuine statement - but he's met with an uncomfortable silence that makes him soldier on.  
“We might have a better chance of reaching Atlas from the Lions too. Hopefully we'll be able to outlast until we get back up. Or find a way to free the Lions.”

“It's better than being sitting ducks, I guess,” Lance begrudgingly agrees.

Keith knows it's hardly ideal, but everyone - even Hunk in the end - agrees it's their best shot. He helps them arrange their armour a little deeper in the eerie canopy of the dead forest, and hopes it will be enough.  
“Good luck guys,” he says, as he watches them lay down their helmets last. “Rely on each other. Stay safe.”

Pidge's stare for a moment is piercing, before it softens into something a little desperate.  
“We'll see you soon,” she asserts, before turning to lead them away.

He can only hope she's right when he jets off in the opposite direction, fully armoured and fully trackable.

The aim is to put as much distance between him and the Lions as possible, so he sets his path for the Volcano that towers over the land. It makes for a logical choice. Tough terrain and high ground that would give the first to arrive a tactical advantage over their pursuers. Keith only hopes he can fool their enemies into thinking that is his goal. It's a secondary bonus though, should he succeed. Even with the benefit of his suit, his path is difficult, but he makes sure to get to the opposite face of the mountainside before he starts shedding his suit, rearranging it meticulously so it almost seems like he has stopped to rest against a boulder in the earth. Pulling away the gloves gives him pause though, when he sees the band resting innocently on his finger. His heart gives a painful thud and he raises it to his lips to kiss. He prays its match isn't far away.

He glances up when he hears a loud boom, but the acrid smoke makes it hard to see, let alone breathe, and he knows that Pidge's estimates may be overstating the time he has when he stands in the middle of what is the likely cause of the planet's poor atmosphere. He can only hope that the sound is good news for them, but for now, he'll have to operate on the assumption that he is on his own. Reluctantly, he puts down his bayard and tucks his last line of defence - his mother's blade - securely into the back of his undersuit. Footfalls come, soft and stealthy, but Keith has honed his own stealth skills too, under the tutelage of Kolivan, then Krolia. He stays hidden, waits for the pirate tracking him to round on his armour, then strikes with his fists to take them down as quickly and quietly as possible. If there is one, Keith assumes there will be others. He needs to get to higher ground.

Without the suit, his climb is ten times harder. He misses the jetpack, but more than that, he misses being able to breathe without igniting his entire chest cavity and feeling his head swim. Every lungful is like poison, and he has to fight the reflex to cough it back up. By the time he climbs to the top of the rockface, he's panting unevenly. But the universe, never one to afford him the easy path, doesn't offer him reprieve now. The hunter that stands there cuts a fearsome image, towering and menacing. Almost as if they had been waiting for him to come. They reach up to remove the mask that obscures their identity, and Keith finds himself met with a familiar, albeit scarred face.

“Zethrid?” Keith breathes.

Her face twists into something ugly, pained, teeth bared as she shouts.  
“You took Ezor from me!”

Keith feels his heart rate spike, and he barely rolls out of the way in time before Zethrid's fist plunges into the ground he was crouched. He needs to regain control of the situation. With the lost element of surprise, his already weakened state from the environment and the loss of his suit and bayard, the odds are stacked clearly against him. He feels all too painfully aware of how little protection his undersuit affords him, feeling every impact of the ground against his skin. He reaches for his knife, feeling it materialise into its full form in his hand as he waits for Zethrid's next move. All strategy seems to be abandoned though, and she fights with the strength of her grief. Somehow, it makes her even more dangerous. They both swing and miss at each other, but Zethrid is the first to land a hit, catching him square in his solar plexus with a brutal boot that sends him flying back over the edge from where he climbed. He doesn't have the luxury of time to wheeze and catch his breath, so he swallows down the bile in his throat and scrambles to his feet to avoid her next blow.

She's reckless in her pursuit, pure offense, and it's clear she cares little for her own wellbeing when Keith dodges a spearing tackle that sends her headlong through the jagged rocks behind him. She wants to kill him and she's not afraid to go down with him, if that's what it takes. She blocks his blade with her fists alone, throwing him backwards again, and this time he thinks he feels something crack when he lands. If it's anything serious, adrenaline steals the pain away. He rolls again to avoid her follow up strike that tears up the earth where he landed only a moment ago. But he feels the unbearable heat around him and realises she's forced his mistake. Cut off from any chance of escape, Zethrid takes her takes her time straightening and advancing toward where he's backed onto the outcrop of rock. Below him, certain death; only rivers of bubbling lava. His lungs ache from exertion and breathing in acidic vapour, and his body is begging for relief. He knows this is his last stand.

“I don't know what you think I did,” he says, panting, tightening his grip on his blade as his vision tilts and blurs. But it's not the right words to speak, because Zethrid snarls, her scarred face filled with fury.

“You took away everything,” she growls, and Keith has never felt such unbridled hatred in a voice before. “And now my face will be the last one you see!”

He has no choice. He has fight back, or meet death. With every ounce of strength he has left, he sweeps up with both hands, but Zethrid catches his wrists as if subduing a mere child. She squeezes without sympathy into the vulnerable tendons, and his mother's blade falls from his fingers with a clatter. He can't even mourn its loss before claws wrap around his throat and lift. She wants to let him know he's powerless before her, and Keith can't deny it's true as he chokes around her grip, feeling his heart rate climb in a desperate plea for oxygen. He closes his eyes when his vision fades and his senses warp, still fighting in vain against her hold. He's at her mercy, only Keith knows there's none for him. She can end his life whenever she chooses now.

But then she drops him to his feet, wrapping a strong arm around his neck and pulling him to her chest, like a shield. It's reprieve enough for him to heave a scorching breath and for the world around him to fade back in. He hears a rifle charge by his ear and looks up just in time to see Shiro and Acxa straighten a few metres away. He can hear the hum of the MFEs overhead, but he doesn't relax yet. Zethrid could just as easily shoot him, or throw him into the volcano below, and face the retaliation that awaits her.

He sees the gun in Shiro's hand, alarmed that he's come armed. He lifts his exhausted gaze to lock eyes with him, shaking his head ever so slightly. He doesn't want her dead. He's starting to realise now just what Zethrid blames him for, what's missing from the picture. He doesn't want any more blood on his hands. Shiro stands firm, but Keith can see the tremor that goes through the flesh arm at his side, as the prosthetic lowers his weapon.

“Zethrid,” Acxa implores calmly, “don't do this.”

And it seems fitting that she would be here to talk her down, when they were the last ones to see Ezor alive.

“I knew you'd come,” Zethrid sneers behind him. Keith can't who she's speaking to when she says, “now you will know what I felt.”

“It's over,” Shiro says firmly. “You're surrounded.”

But there's no self preservation to appeal to.  
“You think this deters me?” Zethrid scoffs, tightening her grip so Keith writhes against it on instinct. “I welcome death now that Ezor's gone.”

Acxa removes her helmet, and Keith wonders if she really believes she can appeal to her… whatever the Galra equivalent of humanity is.  
“Zethrid, I know you hurt. Ezor hurt, too. We all did.”  
He doesn't know if it reaches, but he hears the way she sucks in a pained breath behind him.

“Stop!”

“Hear my words. Remember how we first met. We were so full of rage and hate, half breeds rejected by the Galra.” Acxa takes a hesitant step forward, testing. “Lotor used us. He led us down a painful path, a never-ending cycle of destruction and loss. Now's you chance to break that cycle, with me… for Ezor. She would want you to leave your rage behind.”

For the briefest moment, Zethrid's grip slackens infinitesimally, and Keith thinks her old friend may have broken through.

“I'm too far gone,” she laments. And then, a little harsher, “it will never bring her back.”

The grip squeezes tighter than ever, and Keith fights as he sees fear bloom over the faces in front of him.

“Wait! Please!” Acxa's one last attempt to implore to her compassion is desperate. “Don't let the rage control you!”

It's not enough.

“All I have left,” she snarls, “is revenge!”

The weapon she holds crosses his vision and suddenly Keith realises he's not her first target. She wants him to feel the pain she feels. That means killing the person he loves most, right in front of him. He can't even choke out his despair when he sees Shiro's eyes go wide, struggling against her grip when he hears the gun charge. Not Shiro. Take his life a million times. Make it slow. Make it hurt. But not Shiro.

He hears the shot, but it's Zethrid that falls away while Shiro stands stockstill in front of him. He's alive. He's unharmed. He's…

Keith feels his mind shift gears violently. Zethrid… he can't let her perish. He turns on his heels to see her tumbling, and it's like slow motion. He lunges forward, just as she falls from the edge, and his body slams heavily into the ground as he finds her hand and holds tight. His arm screams white hot agony, but he doesn't have to hold on long. Acxa and Shiro are on him immediately, taking her weight and pulling her up while he crawls back from the edge, limbs trembling under him. His chest feels tight and each breath is harder to come by. His vision pulses and his teeth feel sharp in his mouth in the most unpleasant way, and his body is still fighting, fighting to survive and—

A gentle arm goes under him and he feels a weight press to the back of his head. Without the seal, the helmet doesn't exactly operate at peak efficiency, but Keith gasps in the flow of oxygen regardless.

“Easy baby,” a soft voice says beside him, warbled by the helmet. “Breathe slow. It's okay.”

Keith feels boneless when he's picked up and pulled close to a firm body, blinking blearily up into terrified grey eyes and ash settling into white hair.

“Shiro…”

“Just breathe,” he tells him, cradling his head to his chest, and rearranging his limbs in his lap in an attempt to make him comfortable.

“You found me.”

And for a moment, Shiro looks pained, taking his left hand to kiss the band there.  
“I nearly got you killed.”  
Keith frowns, but Shiro stops him before he can speak.  
“Later. I'm just glad you're okay. The MFEs will lock in on your gear. Kinkade found Pidge and Hunk on our way here, so we're already gathering their suits and bayards. The Lions are safe too. You can rest.”

Keith relaxes, giving a tired nod, but it only lasts for a moment before memory floods him with panic and his sits bolt upright with wide eyes.

“Keith—”

“My knife!”  
He scrambles to his feet before Shiro can stop him, sifting frantically through the dirt.  
“I… I dropped it in the fight. I had it right here! I—”

Shiro's arms are around him again, holding him steady as he feels his eyes start to prickle. 

“I'll help you find it,” he soothes.

They retrace his steps back to the outcrop, where Zethrid disarmed him, and a sick feeling of dismay sits heavy in his belly when he sees the flow of lava below. Zethrid and Acxa are long gone when he hears Griffin's voice in Shiro's helmet.  
_“What's the hold up, Captain? Do you need assistance down there?”_

“No,” Keith grits out as Shiro crouches by a disturbance in the earth by the cliff's edge.

_“Keith? Look, glad to hear you're alright but we need to get you guys extracted. The atmosphere readings are terrible and prolonged exposure to this heat does nothing for the life of these fighters.”_

He watches where Shiro sighs and straightens, and he can see the way his breath labours in his chest, the way he blinks the sting of ash and brimstone out of his eyes.

_“Keith, are you even listening to me?”_

“Yes,” he snaps, glancing down when Shiro looks over to him. “We'll… we'll be there soon.”

He removes the helmet to hand it back to Shiro, his vision swimming for a brief moment before it clears with a wet track down his cheek.  
“It's gone,” he says simply, and Shiro deflates in front of him.

“I'm so sorry, Keith.”

He doesn't fight him when he pulls him to his chest. He just presses his face into Shiro's flight suit and weeps. Because the knife was so much more than the connection to his heritage, to his mother; it was also the last thing his father ever gave to him. The only thing left to his name when he died. And now that little thread, that tiny little string that wove the broken pieces of his family together… it was lost. Destroyed, most likely. In the bowels of a nameless planet to a fight he didn't need to have.

Shiro doesn't rush him, even when Keith hears the tinny sound of Griffin's voice through his helmet. He gulps down a breath, and the sear reminds him they can't stay. That he doesn't have time to mourn.

“We'll be with you in a moment, Private,” Shiro assures as Keith pulls back.

“I don't know what I'm going to say to mom,” he sniffs, biting his lip in vain as fresh tears spill hot over his bottom lashes.

Shiro swipes at his cheek with a gentle thumb.  
“You'll tell her that you saved your team, and that her blade saved your life.”  
He kisses his forehead, then pulls his arm around his shoulder.  
“Can you walk?” he asks, and Keith appreciates that he doesn't just carry him. His ribs ache fiercely and there's a tenderness in his knee that makes him limp, but he nods. Shiro doesn't utter a word of protest during the slow journey to the jet waiting for them, and if Griffin can tell he's been crying, he says nothing either. Keith isn't sure which he's more grateful for.

The reliable flow of oxygen helps to clear his vision a little and work the fatigue out of his muscles, but his head still spins enough that he can't quite remember how he arrives to sit in the med bay with his suit peeled to his waist and an officer prodding at a blackening bruise on his sternum. He hisses, and Shiro winces beside him, until Sam appears to whisper something in his ear and he frowns.

“Go,” Keith says, attempting a reassuring smile that clearly fails given the worried look both of them give him. “Get us off this damn planet. I'm not going to keel over.”

Shiro surprises him by leaning over and brushing back his fringe to kiss his forehead.  
“I'll be back as soon as I can,” he promises.  
Keith hears his heart monitor spike beside him when he hovers to press another kiss to his lips.

“Aye, Captain,” he says quietly, and Shiro gives a little amused huff before he pulls back. With one last squeeze of his hand, he's whisked away, and Keith is left to endure the prodding and poking of the Atlas’ medical team. It makes him miss the healing pods. Figures they'd no longer be around when he finally has a use for one.

He doesn't find himself alone for long, with Kolivan and Krolia joining him as the ship starts rumbling to life around them.

“I'm getting pretty sick of seeing you like this, Keith,” Krolia growls, and Keith ducks his head.  
The stern look only remains a moment before she softens.  
“I'm glad you're okay. You did well to protect your team. Maybe Shiro will rest a little too. He seems to have an aversion to sleep when you're not around.”

Keith frowns at that. Very rarely is he the one to enforce the importance of balance in routine between the two of them. But perhaps that only comes out of Shiro's concern for him, rather than any self-orientated focus.

“Acxa said you were looking for your Blade.”  
And Keith's stomach plummets, because he was hoping to build up to this later, when he had any idea how to tell her.  
“Did you find it?”

Keith swallows and shakes his head. He has to look away when he sees the brief flicker of unfiltered disappointment on her face, but then the bed dips and a warm hand covers his.

“It's okay,” she assures.

“It served you both well,” Kolivan adds gruffly. “Maybe one day, you can forge one of your own.”

* * *

 

The other Paladins come by, presumably after their own check ups, and Keith is relieved to find that aside from a few scratches and bruises, they're all quite unscathed from their ordeal. Lance is more than happy to gush over how Allura took down two space pirates (“ _two_ , Keith”) and Pidge goes into great detail about the trap she and Hunk laid for their own pursuers, and how she vows never to go tech-free again for the rest of her life.

They all look up when Shiro arrives in the doorframe once more, and silently they make space for him to move to his bedside and take his hand. It's only then that he realises the ring on his finger is still in full view. No one has said anything, but Keith finds it hard to believe they haven't noticed. Still, he appreciates that they don't pry, even when Shiro gives his knuckles a quick kiss. 

“Doc says your vitals look steady. As long as you take it easy, they're happy not to keep you under observation tonight.”

He doesn't miss the way Shiro's eyes dart to his chest, which has only grown darker in the hours since take off.  
“Sounds much better than staying in here,” he says, before Shiro can change his mind. “I could really use a shower.”

“I mean, we weren't going to say anything but—”  
Lance yelps when Pidge punches him in the arm.

Keith doesn't care enough to scowl, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as quickly as his sore body can manage. The thought of his usual bed with a warm body beside him is enough to have him removing the electrodes monitoring his heart rate from his skin before anyone can stop him. Shiro visibly winces when the machine reads no heartbeat, but Hunk is quick to kill the sound by turning off the power. There's a moment of unpleasant silence between the group, as if for a split second they all shared the same thought, all lived the same fear.

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles, but it feels like apologising for something else entirely.

“Well, we'd best let you rest,” Allura says, mercifully sparing them their prolonged discomfort. “Pidge and I are going to keep looking into the program she created for the Robeasts and cross reference with Sam's findings. Hopefully we'll have something concrete by the time you're a little more recovered.”

Keith gives an awkward nod with a smile that sits wrong on his lips and he waits for them all to file out before he gets to his feet. Shiro tuts softly and helps him back into his suit when a solo attempt leaves him wincing, but otherwise he remains eerily silent, even as they make the slow journey back to their quarters. It eats at Keith - the thought of how a single deception, a single lapse in his guard led to them falling into a near-fatal trap - until the door slides closed behind them. He steels himself, turning to face Shiro and the apology is on the tip of his tongue.

“I'm so sorry.”

But it isn't he who speaks. A firm arm pulls him close to cradle his head and Keith hears the words rumble in his chest.

“Keith, I'm so sorry.”

Shiro's breath catches under his ear, so Keith goes to speak, but a disturbance in the air and the smell of ozone stops him short, right before Kosmo materialises by his side to wedge between them.

“Hey there, boy,” Keith says thickly, when wolf stretches up to press a wet nose into his cheek.  
“I'm glad you're okay.”

The three of them stay still, as if simply taking a moment to appreciate the fact that they're all alive, before Shiro gently dislodges them to lead Keith into the shower. He lets Shiro do what he needs, tenderly wiping away sweat and grime while Keith stands under the spray. He takes great pains to avoid his chest and his other bruises, and only gives his own body a quick once over when he's done before cutting the water. Keith wants to protest when he dries him off and dresses him, but the words die in his throat every time he catches a glimpse of his beleaguered expression. They don't speak until they're on the bed, and neither of them chide Kosmo when he jumps up to lie across their feet.

“Are you comfortable?” Shiro finally says, when Keith shifts onto his back and winces.

“You don't have to be sorry,” Keith rushes out, and he feels him freeze beside him. It's not the answer Shiro was looking for, but it's something that has been playing on his mind since he first apologised. He turns his head, watching guilt play across his features where he lays, head propped up onto his elbow.

“I should have been able to tell it wasn't you.”  
The look in his eyes is haunted.  
"When we got the message... I should have been able to tell. I..."

“I heard your voice,” Keith says softly. “But it wasn't you, was it? You heard me too.”

“I should have pressed for more details.”

“So should have I.”

“I had so many more resources at my disposal.”

“Mom says you've barely stopped working the entire time we've been gone.”

“That's not an excuse!”

Kosmo whines at their feet, and Shiro's eyes widen in horror.

“I'm sorry… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell, I—”

Keith reaches up to stroke his cheek gently.  
“You're exhausted. I can see it. Why are you working yourself into the ground so suddenly?”

Shiro doesn't answer him.

“I'll check in a little more next time,” Keith continues, but Shiro shakes his head.

“No,” he says quietly, and now he _sounds_ tired too. He softens the word with a kiss. “I'll get it right, I promise. I've been trying to make sure our paths would line up again as soon as possible, but I maybe I've just been rushing. And that's only led to mistakes.”

Keith wants to interject, but he can tell he isn't finished. He waits for him to find his voice again.

“When you stopped the first Robeast and crashed back down Earth, for a moment it felt like I couldn't move. I just watched it unfold before me and I felt utterly helpless. I'd never been more terrified in my life.”  
A gentle hand comes to rest on his stomach, just below his concealed bruise.  
“Until today. I watched you teeter on the edge with death and I just froze… again.”

“I was trying to tell you not to fire,” Keith argues immediately.

“I know, I know, but…” He swallows, and Keith can see his eyes go glassy. “I didn't know what to do. I couldn't think how to salvage the situation. I didn't know how to save—”

“Stop,” Keith says firmly. “You're trying to take the blame. I won't let you. We both messed up. But this was more than you. It was more than me. More than the team, or the crew or… or Ezor. Things have lined up for us so many times in the past, but this time it just… didn't. You can't make yourself the one solely responsible for that.”

“But I—”

“Don't.”  
Shiro's mouth snaps shut.  
“I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't blame you. You can't convince me to. Tell me something nice instead. I've missed you.”

The fingers on his belly shift, then slip under his shirt to begin tracing absent patterns on his skin. Slowly, Shiro expression starts easing. He doesn't quite smile, but he looks a little less troubled.  
“We managed to reach three more bases. Romelle was desperate to try to wormhole us to a fourth under Coran's supervision but it… did not go well. Kinkade got a lot of the awful concentration faces she pulled on camera though. Hopefully they'll make his final cut for his little documentary project.”

Keith scoffs a laugh, shifting closer to him.

“I think Slav might be getting to Sam too, because he asked me if it's possible to draw up a numeracy conversion chart to pin to his forehead. Apparently he's getting pretty sick of Slav's complaints that Earth numbers are illogical.”

Keith grins and he sees Shiro soften at the sight.  
“I suppose having four fingers on each of your eight arms would throw off the entire principle of everything being rooted in the number ten.”

That cracks a smile across his lips, and internally, Keith rejoices.

“I'm starting to cop it from Colleen now too.”  
He raises his pitch in a terrible mimic of her voice that has Keith laughing immediately.  
“Takashi Shirogane - she used my full name, that's how I knew I was in trouble - if Samuel comes to me complaining about that alternate reality obsessed alien Einstein _one more time_ , I swear I'm going to eject _both_ of them into space.”

Keith can see him grinning too when he recovers enough to look up to him again.  
“I'm too scared to protect you from Mrs Holt, so you're on your own there.”

“Figured as much. It's only a matter of time before I get grounded like Katie.”

Keith huffs his amusement, settling a hand over the one on his stomach. They watch each other for a moment before Keith speaks again.  
“Why _does_ hardly anyone call you by your first name?”

Shiro laughs then.  
“You've heard how Iverson pronounces it. It's just easier to say Shiro,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, I grew up in a place where people called you by your surname. Shiro was a name for my friends. It just stuck when I moved to the Garrison.”

Keith hums thoughtfully, falling silent a moment.  
“... Why don't I call you by your first name?”  
It comes out far more shy than he intends and for a moment, Shiro looks stunned. But then his eyes go soft with a tender look just for him.

“You could,” he says quietly with an easy smile. “If you wanted.”

Keith feels his heart stutter and warmth spread through him that eases his aches and pains, if only for now.  
“Okay,” he whispers, nestling closer and closing his eyes.  
“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this has been... difficult. I pondered for all of about 5 seconds about whether I would give season 8 the time of day with this, before I decided I couldn't let it rest. Rewatching the season has been a bit draining though, and by the time I finished The Grudge, I was feeling pretty frustrated all over again with the lack of care afforded to this season visible in continuity errors and character assassinations. I think it shows in the fact that I hit 20k by the time I finished this episode. 
> 
> For that reason, I decided I would split the chapter here, both for your sake and mine. There is certainly more to come - I just need a break to work on something to lift my mood again. I'm actually really enjoying writing this, but the rewatch required is quite draining, hah... 
> 
> Anyway, if I haven't totally lost you, please stay tuned. I have a lot more tweaks in mind for the kind-of-not-quite second half of season 8.
> 
> Catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/copilotsheith), [tumblr](https://copilotsheith.tumblr.com) or [pillowfort](https://pillowfort.io/copilotsheith).


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